John Doe
by chezchuckles
Summary: The title says it all. Co-authored by Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles. Spoilers for season four, but as you will see, quite a lot of it is. . .missing.
1. Chapter 1

**John Doe**

* * *

by **Sandiane Carter** and **chezchuckles**

* * *

_"But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . ."_

_"I am beginning to understand," said the little prince. "There is a flower . . . I think that she has tamed me . . ."_

_-The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry_

* * *

The crimson light spills around him, bathes his face in hot, sticky sunset.

He's pressed against gritty pavement, can't move, the grind of breathing almost too much to bear.

He needs to close his eyes.

* * *

A dull throb that shakes his whole body. A flash of lightning.

The clamoring, the roar aches. He twists but can't move, can't get free of the tangled mess; somewhere rain is assaulting the earth.

He gasps and lifts up, eyes opening, panic thudding painfully in his chest. His sweat slides down his neck, makes the backs of his knees damp. The sheets are wrapped around his legs.

A hum startles him, an arm snakes low at his waist, fingers skimming his back. He turns and his wife is opening her eyes, regarding him sleepily.

"What is it?"

He shakes his head, feeling out of focus.

Another flash of lightning just outside their window, the rain so heavy it thunders.

"Storm like that," she murmurs. "Kids'll be in here."

Kids. Yeah. The kids.

On cue, the bedroom door flies open and two pairs of identical eyes stare at him from the darkness, silent and needy and scared.

His wife lifts up from the sheets, scrapes the hair out of her face as she yawns, then gestures for the kids. "Come on then."

The two run for their parents' bed, scramble up with fingers digging into the bed covers, skinny arms trembling, warm bodies colliding with them.

The boy heads for his mother, the girl wraps herself around him, knees at his ribs, face pressed to his tshirt.

Twins.

He presses his palm to the side of the girl's face, shielding her eyes from the storm outside, and he wonders -

What is her name?

* * *

Darkness is mute, matte, flat. But light peels back his eyelids and he winces, gasping with every too-clean, too-cold breath that enters his lungs.

A face resolves in front of him: anxious brown eyes with hints of green, softly waving hair, thin shoulders hunched forward, long and elegant fingers steepled together in front of her mouth.

He hurts. In places too numerous to distinguish. His body is a bruise.

He sucks in a breath, exhaling a low hiss as his ribs creak.

She brings her gaze back to his face, and her mouth parts, hands drop when she sees him awake. She jumps to her feet, reaches for him, settles her hands on the bedside railing instead.

"You're awake," she breathes.

_The storm woke me._

He clears his throat, blinks to clear the haze. He's surrounded by white - hospital room. The drone of a monitor, the antiseptic making his lungs burn. And her. Touching him just barely at the elbow.

"Awake," he says, not exactly sure.

"What happened to you?" she moans, presses a hand to her mouth as if to keep it back.

Everything hurts. It's all pain, dull and lurking.

He's having trouble figuring this out. He stares at her, flinches when she leans in so close, so hovering. She jerks back, but his brain is - there's a curtain he can't see past.

"I - I-" he stutters. Was there a storm?

A storm. Lightning. And then. . .

"You scared me. I couldn't reach you. You turned your phone off. What happened to you?"

Wait. What?

He shakes his head. "I don't - I don't understand. Who are you?"

* * *

Her beautiful eyes widen, concern flaring up, burning; she covers it quickly, but he sees through her mask anyway. The firm line of the mouth, the careful, guarded look hold no secrets from him.

He must know her. He must. That's the only explanation for it.

His mind strains for something, anything, a memory, a name, a picture - the emptiness is daunting, vertiginous, like his brain has been wiped clean. A virgin territory, a desert without the smallest tree, the tiniest bush to hold on to.

Except that storm, and the bed-

Ah. It's almost physically painful, trying to drag the reluctant memories out, pull them from the dark cave where they're hiding. He's not sure they can even be retrieved.

But the bed. He has a vague, hazy picture of it, and he thinks her face - her face was part of it.

She's-

His wife?

It would explain why he can read her so well. But he can't remember anything, anything at all, not even her name-

She's still looking at him, apprehension on her face, a question on her lips that she clearly doesn't want to ask.

"Castle?" she says finally, and he hears the strangled fear in her voice, meshed with denial. Refusal.

Why is she talking about a castle?

"What?"

She swallows, and he distractedly notices the lovely line of her throat, the whiteness, the purity of the curve. If she's his wife, then he has pretty damn good taste. She's gorgeous.

Yet he's more frustrated than turned-on, because of the scared, knowing look she's leveling on him, because he feels at such a disadvantage. The sensation is sharp, uncomfortable; she knows him, and he doesn't even know himself.

"That's your name," she says, her voice flat, curt. Angry, maybe. Hard to tell.

"Is it?" he replies, surprised. He rolls it in his mind, tastes it on his tongue. Castle. _Castle._

It doesn't sound familiar at all.

"It's a funny name," he says jokingly, because the woman in front of him looks like she's either going to start yelling or burst into tears any second, and neither of these options sounds so good to him right now.

She swallows again, looks away, then back at him. "Castle, I swear, if this is your idea of a joke-"

She looks so distraught; his hand moves before he's even aware of it, cradles her fingers. He stares at their kissing palms, puzzled, but enjoying it, too. Uh. Okay. Different.

"No. No joke," he says, wishing it were. The lack of knowledge, the absence of memories sting, begin to throb behind his eyes.

The woman stares at him, part terror, part determination. "Castle is the name you chose for yourself. But your real name is Rodgers. Richard Alexander Rodgers."

Richard Alexander Rodgers. It rolls nicely. Pretty good sound to it. He wonders why he ever felt the need to change it.

"Don't you recognize it at all?" she whispers, a little desperate.

He shakes his head slowly, more sorry for her than for himself. He doesn't know who this guy, Richard Alexander Rodgers - Castle? - is. Not a clue.

"What about. What about Martha?" she asks, and the way she runs a hand through her hair, helpless, almost makes him forget that he doesn't have the answers she wants from him.

"Alexis?" she says again when he shakes his head, her voice low, vulnerable, too much supplication in it.

He shifts defensively, as if to protect himself from the next attack, the next name she'll flaunt at him, that he should obviously recognize and find meaning in - except he doesn't.

But she sinks her teeth into her lower lip, and *that* sparks something in him. Not memory, no, but the hint of one - he knows it should be familiar, knows that he's seen it before. It's not much, nothing amazing, but still. It's slightly better than the blank nothing.

"I should - I should go get the doctor," she says, and she takes a step towards the door.

"Wait," he calls, suddenly a little panicked. He might not know her name, but her face is the one from his dream, (his sole memory?) and that - that has to mean something. "What's your name?" he asks.

He has to start somewhere.

There's a flash of hurt in her eyes, but it's gone in a second. "Kate," she says calmly. "Kate Beckett."

Kate Beckett.

"You didn't-" he hesitates, but he's tired of wondering, and he feels this great, irresistible urge to know, to fill the void, begin piling up new items in his memory. "You didn't want to take my name?"

She spins on her heels to face him fully, looks utterly bewildered.

"What?"

Oh.

Shit. But she was here when he woke up, she looked so concerned... "Are you not - are you not my wife?"

The rainbow of emotions in her eyes is too fast for him to catch them all; he does identify shock, though, and something of amusement, and then a darker shade that looks like want, like pure, naked desire. He might be mistaken-

He doesn't think he is.

"No," she says, so controlled, so careful. "Castle, we - we work together. We're partners."

Work?

No. No, that can't be right.

"Maybe you should go get that doctor," he says, and she only nods briskly before walking out. He's glad for a moment alone, relieved to get a chance to work at his disbelief, swallow it down.

Partners.

_We work together._

Jeez. Good thing he didn't ask anything about the twins.

* * *

After a moment of hospital silence (how does he know this is a hospital?), he realizes there are some things he knows. Or has already begun figuring out. When she pushed past the curtain to leave him, her hips twisted and he saw the shine of a badge, the bulk of a gun at her hip holster.

Wait a second. She said they were _partners._ Holy shit - he's a cop?

Whoa. Cool. Castle the cop. Officer Castle. Why would he change his name?

Oh. Oh man. Was he undercover and it went bad and then-

Or did his undercover Narcotics assignment go bad just - just _recently_? And thus the amnesia, the hospital-

His heart pounds hard as she comes back in; he tries to catch her gaze but she's carefully not looking at him. He can't help but reference her when the doctor starts examining him - light in his eyes, reflexes, squeeze his hand. For every question, it's like he needs her to affirm the answer.

The woman hides her anxiety, but he can still see it. _Kate._

She's his - she has to be his wife. There has to be more. He has memories - a memory - of her asleep beside him. . .

Partners. He's a cop. Did he - how did this happen? His shoulder feels tender, his ribs hitch as he breathes, but he's got all his limbs, no bullet holes. What happened?

"Elevated heart rate, but that's probably acceptable, given your circumstances. Otherwise, your reaction time is normal, reflexes are good. We'll schedule you for a CT, check out your brain functioning, but in the meantime, let's get a psych consult down here and see if we can't figure this out."

_Figure it out? _A psych consult. A CT scan. He could have - this is serious, and he doesn't know who he is, or what's going on, and nothing looks right, _nothing,_ except her-

Except her. She's the only thing that looks right.

"Kate," he says, reaching out a hand for her instinctively, needing.

She lifts startled eyes to him, a slow blink, and then she glances back down to his extended fingers, staring, just staring, and he withdraws his hand, drops it heavily to his thigh, unable to breathe.

She's not - she's not his. Nothing of his.

He wishes he'd never woken up.

* * *

He lies in the bed, keeps his eyes closed until the social worker can get here. The woman - his partner? - she stays to one side, sitting in that same chair. She doesn't try to speak to him, doesn't say anything at all.

He's alone in this. It's like he was walking around in some gorgeous house this whole time, admiring the artwork on the walls, smiling at the kids in playing in the floor, trying out the bed for a nap. And then he woke up, and the room he'd fallen asleep in was now blank, and colorless, and held nothing in it at all.

When got up to leave, there was no door. When he turned around, there was no bed. And now he's stuck.

In the colorless nothing.

The door opens and a man in thin glasses and balding hair steps inside, case files in his hand. He clears his throat before he speaks.

"Good morning. I hear you're having some trouble."

His wi - ah, partner, or - or Kate. Just Kate. She stands up, walks closer to the bed.

"I'm Kate Beckett," she offers. "This is-"

The man holds up his hand, steps back. "Ah, wait. Let's not go there yet. I'm Vince Roarke, social worker assigned to your case. I'm going to take you through something we call GOAT - Galveston Orientation and Amnesia Test."

His lips quirk. "Goat. I like it."

Kate's eyes cut to his, a flicker of something in them. Something that looks like hope. Maybe he usually does that? Laughs when he's really freaked out. Because he's really freaked out.

"All right," Roarke says. "Let me just go through these."

He pulls out a sheaf of papers and sits down in the chair on the other side of the raised bed. Castle glances at her again, but she's biting on her bottom lip, shifting from foot to foot.

It's so real. He sees it. The only spot of color in the dim room of his mind. Her. So vivid - just that pose, arms crossed, hair framing her face, the sharp cheekbones, and the lower lip pinched by her teeth.

It can't be wrong. It can't be an illusion. She's the only thing he's got-

"What is your name?"

He jerks his attention back to Roarke. "Oh. She said it's - uh - Castle? Um. Kate, is the - is the Richard part still mine? I didn't change that or-"

She passes a hand over her face but nods. "Rick."

Something in his chest eases. "Okay. Rick. Yeah."

He expects some kind of feedback, but the man only marks something down on a sheet of paper. "When were you born?"

"April 1, 1971." He blinks, gapes, glances to Kate with a little grin. _Look at that._

She gives him a tight smile, but she doesn't look relieved. "That's right, isn't it?"

The social worker regards him for a moment, then marks something down. Kate nods once.

"Where do you live?"

"I - I . . ." He can't - it's gone. "I don't know."

"Where are you now?"

"Uh. The hospital." Whew, easy one. Okay, he's not crazy, right?

"In what city?"

"New York?"

No confirmation, just the social worker marking it down. He might have seen her badge though. NYPD. Kate has pressed her lips together, a little tendon jumps in her forehead. He'd really like to take her hand. It would help a lot.

He doesn't know why. She's a mystery to him, as much as he's a mystery to himself.

"When were you admitted to this hospital?"

He shrugs, tilts his head back with a sigh.

"Can you answer-"

"No. I don't know. I just woke up a few hours ago."

"How did you get here?"

"There was a thunderstorm. Lightning. I - I was - there was a thunderstorm," he finishes lamely. "I don't know."

Kate's looking at him now, all of it in her eyes. How is it he knows her so well, and yet he has no idea about himself?

"What's the first event you can remember after the injury?"

"This is a lot of questions-"

"What's the first event-"

"-The first event I can remember. I got it; I can remember that. But am I injured? I guess I have to be, right? To be in here. Uh. I remember." He tries to think back, the lightning, the two kids running into the room, this woman in bed with him. "I don't know exactly. I'm not sure if it's a memory or . . .not."

Kate's giving him another look, more severe.

Roarke scratches his chin. "Can you give some detail?"

"Well. I remember waking up and there's - she's here in the room with me. But I - there's more. I don't know."

The social worker waits, fingers on his chin.

"I think I remember - I'm asleep and there's a storm. Lightning. It's loud, really loud; it wakes us up."

Kate shoots him a look, indistinguishable. "Us? Who is us?"

He opens his mouth, finds the words missing. And then he shakes his head, glances back to the social worker. Roarke is simply waiting. "You and me," he rushes through.

Shit. Him and Kate. The two of them. And then two little kids running in the room, eyes wide-

"What?" she gasps.

"I take it this is-?"

"Not real," Kate says, shaking her head, arms crossed over her chest again.

Not real. _Not real_. But-

"Can you describe the last event you can recall before the accident?"

"I don't remember the accident. Was there an accident? Kate?"

She shakes her head, opens and shuts her mouth.

"She can't give you answers, sir. Can you describe the last event-"

"No. I can't. There's nothing. I have nothing." But Kate, waking up in his bed with a hand at his back.

"What time is it now?"

He glances to the clock, flicks a look to the social worker. "Can I - I mean, I can cheat? Tell time from the clock?"

He nods.

"It's 2:41. I'm - uh - in the afternoon." He assumes. He has no idea. A social worker wouldn't be at the hospital at two in the morning. So afternoon.

"What day of the week is it?"

"I don't know."

"What's the date?"

He takes a long breath, closes his eyes, squeezes his fists. "I don't know," he grits out.

"The month?"

He opens his eyes. "Isn't that the same as the date? I don't know. I don't know the date. I don't know the day or who I am or how I got here. The only things I do know - according to her, they're not even real."

Roarke watches him through the entire tirade, no comment, completely even, fingers on his chin.

He finds himself taking deep breaths, feeling like he's run a marathon (has he ever run a marathon? does it feel like this? it must, if that's what he's thinking).

And just when he's getting a handle on himself again, just when it's starting to subside, Roarke opens his mouth.

"What's the year?"

He battles back the frustration, tries to be smart about it - if he was born in 1971, and Kate looks like she's about thirty, he must be a bit older, like-

"Two thousand..." he trails his voice on purpose, hoping to get a clue from one of them, read some approbation in their eyes; but the social worker looks as patient and blank as ever, and his partner has averted her gaze, has her lips pressed into a thin line.

He feels himself deflate, the little burst of hope already gone, the cleverness melting into dark, depressing acceptance. He bows his head, defeated, discouraged.

Empty.

"_I don't know,_" he answers between gritted teeth.


	2. Chapter 2

**John Doe**

* * *

co-authored by **Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

He's staring at the white, immaculate wall of his hospital room; Kate has followed the doctor outside, which annoys him considerably. He's fit to hear whatever they have to say; he's lost his memory, for god's sake, not his ears or his ability to cope.

What do they think they're doing - sparing his feelings?

He runs a hand across the whiteness of the sheets, lips puckered in a petulant expression. Amnesia should be more fun than this, he feels. It should be exciting, all this wide open space, a blank page that he only has to fill up, letting his imagination loose; but instead it's stress fisting his guts, the misery of not knowing, the sharp anxiety when he pictures the ineluctable disappointment on the faces of the people who love him.

Whom he's supposed to love back.

Yeah. Amnesia is probably more fun to read about than to actually live through.

He clutches the sheet, his eyes involuntarily flicking up, looking for Kate.

There she is, standing on the other side of the glass wall that separated his room from the corridor; she seems upset, has her hands thrown up in the air as she talks to someone - not the doctor. A slim red-haired girl, probably around nineteen. Pretty.

The girl's blue eyes meet his over Kate's shoulder, and he feels like he just got punched in the gut. Oh.

So much - intensity, so much feeling in those eyes.

She's got to be - she is - but - she's coming in-

"Dad!"

The shock of the word is hardly mitigated by the way she throws her arms around him, the fierce affection with which she hugs him, winding him a little.

_Dad._

But it's good; it helps. The touching's good for him.

So he hugs back, trying not to worry about her name (not to freak out over the fact that he has a _daughter_ - shit, a teenage daughter); he simply focuses on the warmth of feeling in his chest, trusts his instincts.

This feels right.

Of course, so does Kate.

The girl - his daughter - steps away too quickly, blue eyes regarding him, wide and troubled. "Dad, where have you been? I was _so _worried! When you didn't come home last night, I called Detective Beckett, and she didn't know where you were, and you - you never do that, you never disappear without telling me where you are, and I didn't even sleep - my mind kept coming up with worst-case scenarios-"

His heart sinks, the comfort of a few seconds ago ripped out of his chest. He doesn't have answers for her, for anyone. He doesn't have answers for himself.

"I don't know," he answers, his voice tight, because he's sick of the words already.

She tilts her head, studying him, a cute little furrow in her brow.

"Kate said - something about amnesia - but you. You remember me, right?"

Ah, fuck, _fuck. _He hates this.

He's going to break her heart and he doesn't even know her name-

"Alexis," he says, hit by a sudden flash of inspiration. It's not memory - it's his brain desperately grasping at straws, hanging on to the names Kate said earlier. A lifetime ago.

He refuses to believe he would call his daughter Martha.

"Yes," the girl - _Alexis_ - answers softly after a pause, but his acknowledgement of her must not have been as comforting as he willed it to be, because her eyes are shimmering as she looks at him. "Oh," she sighs. "You really don't know me, do you?"

_Don't cry_, he begs silently. _Please don't cry._

If she cries, he's not sure he'll make it.

"I. It's all. Very blurry," he says, going for a smile, but feeling like the lift of his mouth is entirely unnatural.

The girl - Alexis - takes a deep breath and pushes her long hair back, understanding, compassion illuminating her young face. "Oh, Dad," she says, and she leans into him, her forehead against his shoulder, her arm wrapping around his chest.

He feels stupidly grateful for it, how willingly she opens herself to him, the way she gives everything Kate has steadfastly refused to - contact, an anchor, something warm and tender to hold on to.

It releases something inside him, breaks through the walls of loneliness, the restrained panic in his heart. His daughter.

Yes. This is right; this is something special and she's sharing it with him like she normally does, because he's - he's her father. He has a starting place, something to work towards. He's Alexis's father.

And of course, she wants to help her father.

His throat closes up, raspy with relief.

He's not alone.

* * *

The CT took longer than he expected; his nerves are rattled. Kate waited for him outside and when they take him back to his room, he reaches over and grabs her hand, can't let go.

The girl is there. He tries to steel himself as he eases back into the hospital bed, tries to find a way to make himself stronger than he feels, able to hold back, not scare her by the vast nothing that gapes inside him.

"I'll head back to the loft to get you some clothes," the girl says.

"Loft? Were you raised in a barn?" he smirks.

Her face falls.

Damn. He keeps forgetting that maybe he shouldn't say stuff like that in front of the redhead. Alexis. He should probably be more protective of her, hide the worst of it from her, stop treating her like she's an adult. But he blurts stuff out without thinking, asking his wife - Kate, Kate, it's Kate - asking her questions whenever they come to him.

"The loft is our - where we live," the girl says.

"I don't know where that is," he says, doing it again. He winces and slides his eyes over to the girl, young woman. Her face is pinched tight with - worry or fear. The disruption of her world for sure.

"All in good time, Castle," Kate murmurs, and her hand comes to rest lightly on his shoulder. "You'll be in the hospital for a little longer, but when they discharge you, I'll take you home."

"Your home or mine?" He presses his lips together with a flare of shame for that, but it just - this stuff keeps coming out of his mouth. He needs to get better control of himself. Especially around the girl. "Sorry. Forget I said that." And then it hits him. "Oh, damn. Pun not intended."

"Puns are fine, Dad. Means you'll be okay. As soon as you get home, I'm sure you'll start to remember."

She takes his hand, the redhead, squeezes and searches his eyes. But he's got nothing, not even a flicker. He's a truly terrible father, isn't he?

"Any other kids I should know about?" he jokes, sighing when he catches sight of both of their faces. "Sorry. I - I can't seem to maintain an appropriate response here. Maybe that's a sign of brain damage or something? Shooting my mouth off-"

The fingers on his shoulder squeeze. "No. Actually. That's very you. The jokes, the talking without thinking."

He glances over at Kate, a rush of gratitude and need overwhelming him. She knows him, she _knows_ him, and this is okay. This is normal. She knows him, and he can be himself - whoever that is - in front of her. Even if she's not his wife.

He gives her a smile, sees the faint impression of one back. "I'm usually an oaf? Putting my foot in my mouth and making poorly-timed jokes?"

"Okay. So your timing might be a little off," she muses, then shakes her head. "Well, strike that. Your timing is usually just off from mine."

Their timing is off? "Is that why you're not my wife yet? Our timing is just off? That sucks."

The girl chokes, her fingers squeezing so hard around his hand that he swivels his head back to her with surprise. She's staring down at him, all kinds of caution in her face. Warning. A warning _to him_, as if he's letting go some great big secret.

He has no more secrets; they're gone. What he does have is the clear memory of waking up with this woman next to him, Kate, and he wants that. He needs it. He has a feeling this whole amnesia routine hinges on that - waking up with her.

"Alexis, why don't you go call your grandmother, see if you can get her?" Kate mentions, giving the girl a meaningful look over his head. He might not know who he is or even the date, but he knows that. Female conspiracy so they can be alone.

He is all for that.

The girl nods and gives him a long hug, whispering in his ear. "I know you don't know who you are, but I still love you." She slips away from him and out the door, fishing a cell phone out of her bag.

He stares after her, nervously clears his throat. "Good kid?"

"The best."

He nods. "I think so." At her silence, he glances over, realizes she's trying to figure out how to take that. He sighs. "If I remember her, anything, you'll be the first to know. I was just commenting that it seems like it to me. What little I've observed."

She nods shortly. "Okay. I - thanks."

"Do we live together? In this loft."

She cuts her eyes to him, swallowing hard. "I'm not your wife, Castle."

"But you want to be?"

"You can't ask questions like that," she sighs.

"You didn't answer," he notices, his heart rate speeding up. "And this is the best and perfect time to ask these questions. I'm damaged. You can't say no to a guy in a hospital," he whines, pouting at her.

She quirks an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile appearing. "You're not damaged. Not if you're whining at me." She reaches out and uses her thumb to push on his pouting chin; his whole body alights, sparking and aware.

"Are you sure we don't live together? Because this is just too good to waste-"

"Castle," she sighs, shaking her head, dropping her hands entirely, stepping back.

This must be a line. He can push only so far before he pushes her physically away from him. Good to know.

He waits until she meets his eyes, starts looking at him again. He takes a breath when she holds his gaze, realizes he finds it so very important that she's here, that she'll stay. Co-workers or not.

"We're partners," he states. "Police, right? Oh wait, please. Even better - FBI? Oooh, no, CIA. I bet we're CIA. That is so awesome. You probably can't even tell me I'm CIA, can you? Like, regulations or something. Blink once for yes, twice for no-"

She's laughing now, a kind of breathless and relieved noise of air as she clutches his forearm with a hand. Like she needs to hold on. "No, no. Oh no. You're not CIA, Castle. It's NYPD. But that's good. That's really good. It must all be there; it must still be in your head."

"What?" He can't understand her, but she's simply breathtaking when she laughs, when she _smiles_ at him like this, rich and wide and alive. "God, you're beautiful."

She stills, her eyes cutting to him with a rush of painful and awkward awareness, withdrawing her hand from his arm, stepping back. He's tired of it, so tired of it, and he reaches out and snags her by a belt loop - first thing he can reach.

"Don't keep backing away from me. Makes me feel like I'm contagious. Or contaminated. You'd tell me if I was radioactive, wouldn't you, Kate?"

Her face is still that careful blank, but she gives him a short nod, stops moving. Her hand comes to rest over his, but doesn't dislodge him.

"I won't - I won't back away. Not anymore," she says quietly.

He lets go, can't help brushing his fingers over the side of her hip as he does. She's already easing forward to lean against his bed again.

"Castle, we need to get some things straight before your daughter comes back. Alexis."

He gives a look to the door, imagining the redhead just outside, calling her grandmother; he hopes she isn't crying. He hopes her-

"Oh, shit. Am I already married?" he asks, turning in horror to look at Kate. "Please, no. I can't - not - if it's not you, I can't-"

It looks like it takes a momentous effort for her to answer; she presses the back of her hand to her mouth, closes her eyes.

When she looks at him again, all of that is gone. Stoic.

"You've been married twice. Divorced twice. Alexis is your only child, from your first marriage."

"She's. . .uh - she's how old?"

"Nineteen. She's in college at Columbia. I think she stays with you off and on - she has a campus apartment though."

"Maybe she should stay there for a while," he says, glancing once more towards the door. "I can't - I'm not sure I can keep this up if she's there-"

"Keep it up?" she says, her voice sounding thin, watery.

He looks back to her, surprised at her surprise, defensive. "I don't know her. I don't - I think I'll hurt her feelings before long and she shouldn't have to deal with this - my - the not knowing. She should have her dad. But that's not me, Kate. I don't know how to be that. Maybe she could stay with her mom instead of me when she needs to - I don't know - be at home, be comforted?"

Kate sucks in a long breath, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead. "I don't think that's - I'm pretty sure Alexis wouldn't go to her mother."

"Oh?" He perks up. More details. Good details, the juicy kind that will maybe give him something of a picture in his head, anything. "Why's that? Who is she?"

"God, Castle, I can't - this feels wrong. I can't fill you in on things I don't - have no business knowing."

"No business knowing," he repeats, heart sinking. "If not you . . . then who Kate? Who else would it be for me but you?"

Her shoulders hunch and he wonders what he said. Just the truth - he needs her help. But she's all contracted, all pulled in, like she expects a body blow.

"Kate. I really need your help. I really - I really need you-"

She lifts her head; he sees the thickness to her lids, the red staining the corners of her eyes, a sense that if she were any less than who she is, she'd be crying right now. But she's not; she's nodding at him and pressing her lips together as if trying to gather her strength.

"Meredith. Alexis's mother is Meredith. She's an actress in LA. She doesn't often - she and Alexis have more of a sister relationship? You told me once that Meredith took Alexis out of school and flew her to Paris to go shopping. Without telling you."

"Oh, jeez, looks like I picked a winner," he mutters.

She chokes on a laugh, gives him a look. "I - I - okay. She's very nice. But. Um. No comment?"

He grins, her attempt at levity actually doing its job, making him feel lighter. "That was the first one. You said two."

"Gina. Your publisher. She-"

"My what?" He grabs her arm, knows he's squeezing too tightly, knows it but can't stop it, can't do anything than feel - feel - something, something on the edge of his consciousness. "My what? Kate-"

"Publisher. You're a best-selling mystery novelist."

"I'm what?" He studies her face. "Shut the front door."

She gasps on a laugh, faintly hysterical, and shakes her head as she looks down at him. "Yeah. Yeah, you think you're famous, Castle."

"What does that mean?"

The smile slips off her face. Oh, oh, she must have been referencing something he'd know, or should know. Only he doesn't know it. He thinks he's famous?

"You're pretty famous. I read your books before I ever met you-"

"You did?" he grins. "Tell me more about that. You. I want to know all about you."

She stares down at him, shakes her head once. "Let's work on you, first."

"But everything revolves around you, Kate. If I know you, I think the rest will be there."

She withdraws her hand, turns her back on him. He's not quick enough to grab her this time and she gets away, pacing to the window. She doesn't come back.

"Castle. There's maybe something I should tell you. First. Before-" She stops.

"We're secretly married?" he asks, hoping for a smile, but instead getting an over the shoulder glance - all melancholy, aching and bitter.

"You were brought to the ER this morning, blood all over you, wearing the same clothes from yesterday evening when I made you go home - jacket, dress shirt, pants, shoes. They thought - someone called 911 because they thought you'd been hit by a car."

"I was hit by a car?" He feels shockingly good for that. "Kate. Look at me. I was hit by a car?"

"No." She turns back around finally, and now he knows why she wouldn't look at him. It's all in her face, her eyes, broken and helpless and confused. She doesn't understand him any more than he does. "No, Castle. You weren't by a car. Not a scratch. The blood wasn't yours."

_The blood wasn't his._

"They found a gun in your jacket pocket. Two missing rounds. The gun isn't yours."

"What?" he grinds out, voice raw. Blood. A gun.

"The gun is mine, Castle. I don't know how you got it, but it's mine."


	3. Chapter 3

**John Doe**

* * *

She keeps an eye on him as she explains to Alexis, tries not to make it sound like Castle doesn't want his daughter around in his time of need.

"What are you telling me?" the young woman whispers indignantly. "That I'm supposed to go back to college, pretend that this isn't happening? Do you think I can go on with my life and just ignore that my father has amnesia, that he has no idea who he is?"

Kate doesn't reply immediately; she's watching Castle, who's standing at the desk signing discharge papers (at least he remembers how to sign his name). She doesn't know what she's expecting, but he's strong and sure, his hand steady on the pen; there's no trace of the shock, of the fear that shone in his eyes after she told him about the gun.

Is he putting up a front for Alexis?

She turns back to the girl, holds back a sigh at the fight sparking in those familiar blue eyes.

"Alexis..."

"No. Kate. I can help; I know I can help. We share so many memories, my dad and I - as soon as we get to the loft, I'll show him pictures, and the laser tag equipment, and the dent he made in his desk that time when he was trying out his new antique sword, and I'm sure he'll-"

A sword?

"Alexis," Kate cuts her off, pushing her hair back, wishing this was easier. On both of them. "We don't want to pressure him into remembering. That's not how it works. The brain is still a mystery, for the most part, and he might never-"

"So what are we supposed to do? Sit back and wait, hoping he'll figure it out?"

Alexis's jaw is set, her lips pressed together in a stubborn expression that the detective knows well. Kate switches tactics.

"Look, it's not just that. Your dad - he's a witness, a vital part of our investigation. He might not have been hurt, but we need to figure out whose blood it was that stained his clothes."

Castle's daughter looks at her in something like horror. "You don't think-?"

"Of course not," Kate soothes quickly, hoping that she can keep the doubt out of her voice. It would have to have been some sort of traumatic event to cause Castle to lose his memory- "But it looks bad, Alexis. We need to figure this out."

"But." The redhead struggles, lifts confused eyes to her. "He's lost his memory. How can he help? How can you find out what happened?"

Beckett's mind flies back to that case two years ago, how they put the evidence together, made up for Jeremy's missing remembrances. She had Castle with her then, but still her heart trembles with hope, and there's almost a smile on her lips when she answers, "That's what detective work is all about, you know."

Alexis averts her eyes, chews on her lower lip as she considers. Her shoulders sag after a moment; she looks back at Kate, unhappy but no longer opposed to it.

"You're asking me to stay away until the end of the investigation?"

Kate nods, relief flooding her chest. "And if by then, working with us, being at the precinct hasn't helped, then maybe being home with you will."

A shadow crosses the young woman's clear blue eyes. "I don't like this plan."

"It's not mine, Alexis."

Alexis sucks in a sharp, pained breath, her gaze flicking towards her father before it comes back to Kate. "That's a low blow," she murmurs, sounding very much like the little girl that Castle must have comforted hundreds of times.

But Alexis's dad isn't here anymore, and Beckett feels too brittle, too shaken to be of comfort to Alexis too.

"I'm sorry."

The girl closes her eyes, gives a brief nod. "Okay. Fine. But you had better take good care of him," she adds, lids flying open, staring fiercely at Kate.

The detective swallows, finds her voice after a few unsuccessful tries. "I will. I promise."

Alexis looks like she's going to say more, but she must decide Kate's promise is enough after all; she turns away and walks to her father, throws her arms around his waist.

He gives Beckett a startled look across the room, but he hugs back, his chin finding a natural resting place atop his daughter's hair; it breaks Kate's armor, cuts deep at her heart, the realization of what Alexis stands to lose if he never-

She shivers, tries to barricade her mind against the dreadful prospect.

She doesn't want to imagine her life without him.

* * *

The moment he steps into the loft, hesitant and attentive, fascinated like a man stepping into unknown territory, Kate knows they were right to send Alexis back to Columbia.

His daughter would only be hurt by this.

"I live here?" he turns back to ask, sounding awed and pleased and a little proud, too.

She doesn't hide her smirk. That's Castle alright.

"You do."

"Cool," he says, sounding like a little boy who's just unwrapped a really awesome Christmas present.

Kate smiles, really smiles, for the first time since Alexis called her this morning, asking if her dad was at Kate's place. He does that to her, loosens her chest with his words, allows her to take a deep breath when she feels like she's drowning.

"That's pretty much the reaction I had the first time I walked in here," she tells him, and the honesty is refreshing, like a balm applied to the questions that itch under her skin.

He cuts his eyes back to her, curious and calculating, so much _Castle _in his expression that it's hard to believe he doesn't remember who he is.

"How long have we known each other?" he asks, tilting his head.

She bites her lip, breathes past the sudden weight of responsibility. _Take good care of him_, Alexis said_._ "About four years."

"Four years?" He seems surprised. What? Is it less than he thought? More? "How did we meet?"

She sighs. She's going to spend the day answering his questions. She might as well get used to it right now.

"There was this serial killer who arranged his crimes after scenes from your novels. So I walked into one of your book parties, took you back to the precinct with me for questioning."

A smile dances around his lips; his eyebrow lifts. "Sounds exciting."

Yeah. Same old Castle.

She doesn't fight the answering smile that breaks over her face. "You sure seemed to think so at the time."

"And you didn't?"

He's teasing now, that easy, playful look in his eyes, but the interest is still burning at the back of his gaze.

She suddenly realizes that they're standing in the middle of his living room, probably too close for her own good.

"You said you'd read my books before you met me," he points out (shit, why does he remember nothing of his life, but can quote her own words back at her when he needs to?). "Weren't you curious to meet me? A little impressed, at least?"

If only he knew.

"Whatever I might have been, Castle, it quickly evaporated when I realized what an arrogant jerk you were," she shoots back, a little harsher than she intended maybe. But she needs to keep him from hearing the breathlessness in her voice, the brutal thud of her heart against her ribs. _Used to be._

He doesn't seem upset though, and grins slowly at her, the way he does when he has something that he can use against her - the way that makes her insides curl in panic.

"And yet you're still here," he says, sounding so smug that she wants to hit him.

"Pure charity on my part," she returns, arching her eyebrows. Did he just step closer? Warmth suffuses her cheeks, but she won't back away, won't let him win.

"Charity? For four years? My, you're quite the good Samaritan."

"Or maybe you're just that pathetic."

The words are unfair, make her wince the moment they're out of her mouth; but there's no hurt in his eyes - of course not, he doesn't remember, he doesn't _know_ - and his smile just deepens, that lovely darkness sparking in his eyes.

God, she can't breathe, and she can't remember why it would be bad to yank him to her, attack his mouth-

"You're really beautiful," he breathes, admiration and awe laced in his voice, and this is why. He's not himself; he might sound like it, the tension thrumming between them like it did when they first started working together, but she can't let herself be fooled.

Kate steps back, swallows her blossoming arousal.

"We need to get to the precinct, Castle. We're only here so you can change clothes."

He blinks, looks oddly disappointed. "Oh, right. Yes."

He moves towards the stairs; she closes her eyes, the burn of shame in her chest, because she's supposed to help him - she's supposed to guide him through this - and instead she flirts with him in his living-room, acts like everything's normal.

What's wrong with her?

"Castle. Your room's that way."

He pivots, smiles in embarrassment. "Ah. Thanks."

He crosses back, stills when he gets to the door. Gives her a curious look over his shoulder.

"Have you ever been inside?"

Inside his room?

"No," she exclaims, feels the blush spreading. Damn it. She feels like a schoolgirl being asked if she's ever kissed a boy. Ridiculous.

Castle smiles proudly. Oh, he thinks he's so clever.

"Too bad," he concludes, his eyes laughing but so very hot, and he disappears inside his study.

Shit. Shit, he's going to kill her.

* * *

Beckett scrapes her hand through her hair and sets her jaw as the elevator doors open. Castle is grinning like a fool, running his fingers along the wall as he follows along behind her. She stops to let a uniform pass her and Castle bumps into her back, apologizing.

She sighs, turning around to grab him by the elbow. "It's just a police precinct, Castle. Not like you haven't seen it before."

She stumbles even as she says it, gives him a swift look of apology. He seems to be struggling to maintain that little boy excitement; she sees the despair that flashes over him. Her fault.

Kate slides her arm through his, pulls him towards her desk, wondering if - hoping maybe that it will jog his memory.

"Anything?" she says quietly, detaching herself when she gets to her computer. She sits and thumbs on her monitor, watches him.

He stands there looking uncomfortable. "Nothing. I - Am I usually here?"

"You're my partner, Castle."

"I thought you said I was a writer."

She sighs and rubs her forehead. "Well, yes. But - hey, sit down." She waits, hoping-

He glances around, his eyes finally flick back to hers, and then he sits. In his chair, on the edge, hands on his knees. "This okay?"

Her heart sinks. "Yeah. Yeah, Rick, that's fine."

He nods, eyes darting around, fingers nervously tapping out a rhythm on his knee caps. "So. Uh. How does this work? I sit here and stare at you while you solve murders and stuff?"

She lifts her head from her hand, smiles at him. "Yeah. You remember that?"

He gives a little uneasy laugh. "No. I just - I can't see how I'd be of any help to you, Kate."

"You help. You're a big help, Castle." She reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing, pulling it from his knee to hang in the space between them. "We get a case and you make me look at it differently, make me see connections and motives."

"Oh. Uh. Why? How do I do that?"

She chews on her lower lip and knits her eyebrows together, tries to put into words all those things she's never been able to express. And, of course, she fails. There are no words for how he helps her, _partners_ her.

"I know," she says softly, a smile growing on her face. "I'll dig out some of my case notes. You can read for yourself what you do for me."

His eyes light up. "Yeah. I'd like that." And then he glances away, his face darkening.

"You'll remember, Castle," she says intently, squeezing his hand harder. "It might take time, but it'll be okay."

"It's not even - Kate, it's not even really the not remembering. It's the gun," he says quietly, his fingers lacing through hers and pulling her a little closer. Her chair rolls towards him.

"My gun," she says back. She sees the fear reflected in his eyes, the same one curling in her guts.

He squeezes harder. "Yeah. How did I get it?"

She shakes her head, pulls his hand between her knees to clasp it between both of hers. "We'll figure it out."

"I show up with a gun, and I'm soaked in blood that's not mine. It can't be good."

"Hey," she says, leaning in towards him. "I know you, Castle. Even if you don't know yourself."

"But - what if - I mean, what other answer is there?"

"Don't think like that," she hisses at him, anxious to protect that little boy she sees in his eyes.

He drops his head, his chest rising and falling. After a moment, he lifts his gaze towards her, desperation and desire in a strange mixture. "What - Kate, what did I do?"

* * *

Ryan and Esposito are messing with Castle something fierce. Kate lets it go on for a little while, and then she calls a stop to it, stepping up in front of her partner and giving the two detectives a look.

For some reason, Castle's hand comes to her waist and curls at her hip. Esposito lifts his eyebrow and Kate blinks, tries to readjust, tries not to stiffen and pull away from him. Not now. Wouldn't be good for him.

She turns and pushes him towards the conference room. "Head in there, Castle. We'll get set up and share all the information we've gathered."

His hand brushes across her waist as he nods, moves towards the open door.

"Yo."

Kate pulls her eyes from Castle, frowns at the disapproving look Esposito is giving her. Ryan, on the other hand, is all dopey-eyed and sympathetic. She's not sure which is worse.

"What."

"You really gonna encourage that?" Esposito says.

"I'm not going to push him away when he doesn't have any idea who he is, Espo. He needs his friends."

Ryan nods enthusiastically. "We also heard-"

Esposito whacks the back of Ryan's head, growling at him. Kate lifts an eyebrow.

Ryan rubs at his head and whines at his partner. "Ow, man. That one really hurt."

"You need to learn to keep your mouth shut."

"He _said_ he already told her."

"Told me what?"

"That he thinks you guys are married."

Kate sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. "Please don't encourage that."

"Yeah, yeah, no," Ryan says heartily. "But it is kinda cute."

She glares at him, at both of them, and then pokes Ryan in the chest. "You keep that to yourself." She turns to Esposito, gives him another hard look just in case, then heads for the conference room. "Come on, boys. Let's get started."

* * *

She marks it on the timeline with a frustrated jerk of her fingers. "Castle. You don't remember that?"

He sighs heavily. "If you keep asking me that, Kate, I swear I'm gonna-"

"Okay, okay. Forget I asked." She bites her lip and makes the red line, writes in _3:32 pm ATM transaction._ "So. You pulled 600 dollars. Is that a normal amount of money or-"

"Seriously?" he groans, pushing back from the table and stalking away from her. "I _don't_ know. I don't know. That sounds like a crazy huge amount of money, but you say I'm loaded. So let me ask you, Kate - is that how much money we usually take out?"

She straightens up from the board, shoots him a look, but he's rubbing his hand down his face in frustration. Not looking at her. He doesn't even realize what he's said.

"Castle," she says gently.

He drops his hand and turns back to her. "Sorry."

She shakes her head. "It's okay. Just. I'll talk to Alexis and ask her. Your mother's on her way back into town-"

"My mom?"

Hearing _mom_ come out of his mouth is just so wrong. He never says mom. It only reinforces how fractured he is, how not himself. She finds her chest tightening the longer she looks at him - Castle, and yet not Castle.

"Martha Rodgers. I'm sorry. I should have mentioned that. She lives with you and Alexis at the loft. Well, actually she doesn't any more, neither of them do. When Alexis moved out for college, she started renting space above her acting school."

"Acting school. I'm - maybe you could make notes for me? Index cards of all the stuff I'm supposed to know."

"Ryan," she says, nodding to him. "Basics."

"Me? Why do I have to do it?"

"Ryan," she huffs.

"Fine," he grumbles. "But you know I'm just gonna be asking you for the details. You're the one who-"

He gets a slap to his chest from Esposito, which Kate is grateful for, especially considering the look that Castle is giving her.

Calculating, curious. Intent. Entirely too much _want_ in his eyes.

"Okay. So, ATM transaction. What's next?"

"We've got a credit card purchase at 55th Street Hardware between Lex and 3rd. Five items, including 2 blank keys, a keying kit, a welding rod, a welding torch kit, and a pair of safety goggles."

Kate lifts her eyebrow, glances over at Castle in a moment of surprise. But of course, he has no idea. She sighs and turns back to the whiteboard. "Time?"

"Five after four," Esposito says. "And then we got another bank transaction - a transfer."

"Time?"

"Five thirty. This one is for nearly fifty thousand dollars."

Fifty thousand dollars? She cuts her eyes back to Castle, but of course, he looks floored. And a little overwhelmed.

"Fifty thousand dollars? Kate. We have that kind of money just - just lying around?"

She grits her teeth and clenches her hand around the dry erase marker. "Castle, I don't know what kind of money you have lying around. But you once put up a hundred thousand dollars to help me catch my mom's killer."

"Your mom?" he gasps, sinking onto the side of the table. "What - your mom was killed? When?"

Oh God, she can't do this. She can't - not right now. Not after all this. She turns back to the white board. "Tell you later. So, the last we have of Castle is 5:30? Okay. Let's - let's canvas the hardware store. Castle and I will go back to his apartment and look for the money - that six hundred dollars - and the stuff he bought. Espo, get someone in tech to trace the fifty thousand, see where it went."

"Kate."

She waves him off with a shake of her head, glances to Ryan and Esposito. "You guys got it?"

They both nod.

Kate finally looks up at Castle, finds his eyes boring into hers. She knows she'll have to go through it all over again, all of it. "First this, Castle."

He doesn't look like he's good with that, but he stands up, holds his hand out to her.

As if he expects her to come.

Damn. But she does, she does come. She takes his hand because she can't not comfort him, not give him the one small thing he needs.


	4. Chapter 4

**John Doe**

* * *

by** Sandiane Carter **and** chezchuckles**

* * *

When she parks her car a block away from his apartment, she takes a deep breath, tries to clear her mind. Castle is already opening his door to get out, but she stays him with a hand on his knee; the contact is too much, burns, and she takes her fingers back swiftly, her skin stinging.

"Castle."

He looks at her curiously, but she sees the flicker of hurt he struggles against, shimmering at the back of his eyes._ Ignore it, Kate._

_"_I just. I feel like I need to remind you that - we're not married," she says, softening her voice, trying to be gentle. "Your money - your money isn't mine. I don't know what you do with it, and...it's none of my business."

He sucks in a breath, averts his eyes. He stares through the window for a couple seconds, then bends his head, nods slowly. "Right. Right. Sorry."

Oh, her heart. She doesn't want to - it's not that - "Castle. I understand. You don't have to be sorry, just. This is how it is, in the real world. You and I. Partners."

And there's so much, so much behind that simple word.

But he doesn't know it, doesn't get it, and he lifts confused, sorrowful eyes to her. Her chest thumps, no air in her lungs. "But I love you so much," he says, plaintive and puzzled, and he sounds like he's realizing it just now, like the words are as much of a shock to him as they are to her.

Kate goes very still, unsure how to breathe past that.

Damn it, Castle.

"You..." She licks her lips, hesitates. "You remember?"

Blue eyes lock onto her, and then it hits her - she shouldn't have said that. Big, big mistake, Kate.

"You've heard it before," he states, going in a split second from a whiny little boy to a calculating, observing man. It makes her head spin. "I've said this before, haven't I? I love you."

She can't help the shiver of her heart, the triumphant whisper in her blood. _Yes._

The words won't get past the barrier of her throat.

"So we're _more _than just partners." Damn, he sounds upset now. Angry. "Why can't you just tell me that? How hard is it to tell me the truth?"

Answers tremble on her lips, stupid answers along the lines of _We don't usually talk_ and _It's not who we are _and _I'm not sure I can do this_; but they seem ridiculous in the face of what he's going through, the clean slate of his mind, the desperate quest for a clue, a key that will open the door to his memories.

"Castle," she hedges, not knowing where to go from here, the feeling of responsibility crushing her, the sense of owing him answers she doesn't want to give, she can't give.

This should be-

She should be looking into his eyes and smiling at him, watching the joy of knowledge ripple across his face, should be lifting on tiptoe to whisper her secrets, her love in his ear.

He should know who he is. What it means.

What they mean.

This is - all kinds of wrong.

"Is this why we're not together?" he asks suddenly, frustration meshing with the rage that sizzles in his voice. "Because you won't tell me things, won't talk to me?"

She gasps - so not fair, they're both in this, both not telling things - it's not just her that's responsible for all the miscommunication over the years - but despite her efforts her protests remain trapped within her chest, stuck there, heavy, useless.

"Yeah. I thought so," he says, and the worst part is that he doesn't sound furious anymore. Just - terribly disappointed.

He opens the door and walks out of the car, into his building, and she can't, for the life of her, make herself move. She can only watch him stride away.

* * *

Her heart throbs in her chest, a bleeding, gaping wound; Kate forces herself take short little breaths, has to get air to her lungs somehow. Then she buries her faces into her palms, a low moan escaping her lips.

At least he can't hear.

Oh, but that's what he's blaming her for, isn't it? Blaming her for not sharing.

She releases a shaky sigh. She can't - she can't take this like - this is _not _Castle. Well, it is, but not-

Oh, God.

The man who just said those things to her - he doesn't know her. He thinks he does, he thinks he knows _them_, but he's wrong. She can't let it get to her. She has to focus on the investigation, has to find out whose blood was all over Castle.

This is the priority.

Whatever truth is contained in his words, she doesn't have to deal with it now - may not have to deal with it _ever_ - because it's not _her_ Castle speaking them. It's a stranger who looks like Castle, thinks like Castle, feels like Castle.

She breathes deeply, feels her heartbeat slowing down as everything comes back into focus.

The case comes first.

Always.

* * *

She finds him inside the building sitting on the stairs, facing the entrance; he has his head in his hands, but he looks up when she walks in, makes a soft sound of either recognition or apology.

"Kate," he says, relieved and nervous both, before she can even open her mouth. "I'm sorry. I just - I guess I'm under pressure, and it's - it's easier to be a jerk than to try and understand."

She takes his words in, nods in acceptance.

"I'm sorry too," she answers. "I would never lie to you, Castle. I promise. But you and I - we're not famous for our ability to share."

He nods too, some spark lighting up in his eyes that she can't quite understand. Does he remember something?

She bites her tongue against the question, steps through the space left between them, until she's standing in front of him.

"But, Castle. What matters now is that we figure out what happened to you. I can't see what else would help, what else could trigger your memory. So I know it's frustrating, I know you want to know, but we have to focus on the case. Which is why we should go up to your loft and find out where that money is, alright?"

He studies her for a moment, the shadow of a smile at his lips. "Together," he murmurs, and it's a pleased affirmation rather than a question, but the answer tumbles out of her anyway.

"Together," she echoes, because this is what they do, they solve murders, enigmas together, and she wants nothing more than to have him by her side right now.

_She's armed. He's dangerous._ Her lips quirk as she remembers the stupid signature line he made up for them.

Kate holds out a hand for him, and he takes it; but of course she tries to pull him to his feet at the same time as he propels himself up. He stumbles into her, his palms finding her waist in an attempt at steadying both of them, and his lips brush hers.

Her heart stops.

Maybe it was an accident, maybe it was deliberate; she can't even find it in herself to care, because his mouth lingers, so soft, and she just-

She can't.

She closes her eyes and wills herself away, but her body won't budge; her chest flutters desperately, panic or warning, she's not sure.

She had it all under control, everything neatly ordered in her mind, but he always has to go and ruin it.

It takes her a moment to realize the moisture on her cheeks is hers. Her tears.

"Kate," he whispers against her lips, and she parts her mouth to draw an agonizing breath, has to stop it, _stop it._

Please.

"Please, Castle," she begs, her voice so quiet it doesn't sound like herself. _Just, please, stop, please. _"Don't."

She's so close she can feel his chest deflate with the long sigh he lets out. And then he steps away. His fingers touch her cheek, though, thumb sweeping at her tears, and she bites her cheek hard to keep herself from responding to his caress.

When she opens her eyes, he's watching her with a very Castle-like face, a little wary, a little wistful, but incredibly tender.

"Sorry," he mouths, the sound barely making it to her ears.

She shakes her head, soft and slow.

"Case," she says, when she can speak again. "Let's do the case first."

She squeezes his hand once, hard, before she lets go and starts walking up the stairs.

There's just no way she's getting in an elevator with him now.

* * *

He runs a hand through his hair and stares at the study. His study. Nothing familiar about it, doesn't even feel like him, really. The desk is massive, the chair across from it rather boxy and rectangular, too modern. The bookshelves are open, and seriously, seriously? how is that ever a good idea?

He's trying very hard to _not _think about the memories he does have - kissing her just now, so soft and warm - so he has to focus, concentrate on this. Here.

He notices a digital projector set up on one of the bookcases and follows the line of sight to the shelves behind the desk. Huh. Must be-

Yeah. There's a projection screen recessed into the ceiling. He gets up on the desk chair (it's so ergonomic that it's got to be amazingly comfortable) and then he peers up at the bottom of the screen. He can't figure out how to get it down, so he gets off the chair and hunts around for a remote.

Ah. Here it is. He thumbs the power button and points it towards the ceiling.

But the television lights up instead. Darn. Weird. Why have a tv and a projector in the same room? Seems ridiculously expensive. But of course, he's a best-selling novelist with money to burn, right? Why wouldn't he-

Oh jeez. What is this? That's her face. His wife-

No. Not his wife. He's got to stop thinking of her like that, even if it's unconsciously. He's going to say something to embarrass them both. Especially after she just - just shot him down. Twice, right? He's told her he loves her before, and probably he got the same response, didn't he?

He can't help reaching out to touch her face, the line of-

Whoa. What's this? The picture has shrunk to the middle of the screen and now there are lines radiating out like spokes, connections, a web. All these other things, people, information. This is nuts.

He reads a few of the notes, getting absorbed, and then realizes this has something to do with her mom. She said - and something about her mom's killer - and this is - are they doing this? Sniper. Hired killers. A handful of dead.

"Kate?" he yells, calling over his shoulder towards her. She was searching the upstairs or something. "Kate! Come look at this. Are we doing this?"

"What is it?" she calls back; he can hear her getting closer. He stands away from the monitor and glances down at the remote in his hand. This thing controls that. So it's probably not a television, some kind of expensive toy.

"You should've told me about this, Kate. This has _got_ to be why I had your gun."

"What are you look-" She gasps.

He glances over his shoulder at her; she's gone pale, all the color drained from her face, her lips bloodless. She stares at the monitor.

"Yeah, I know. This is nuts. What's this about? It has something to do with you. Are we doing this?"

"My - my mom's case." She blinks and turns her face to him, her eyes dark. "Why did you do this?"

He holds up both hands. "I just found it."

"You've been - you've been doing this behind my back?" she whispers. "I can't believe you did that. I can't-"

"Hey, I didn't do anything," he says, dropping the remote onto the guy's desk. "I don't know what this is."

She drags her eyes away from him, back to the thing behind him, and he realizes there's a whole wealth of history to this that he just doesn't know. Doesn't have access to. And it's hard to believe that it's his fault, that he did this, because he just - he doesn't know these things. It's all gone. None of it looks right.

Her hand is at her chest, like her heart hurts, and it twists his insides. Whatever it is this guy Castle has done - damn, look how it kills her. He can't stand it.

He goes to her, wraps his arms around her, but she's fighting him off, pushing him back. "No. No you don't get to - not after this. Damn it. How could you - and what is all of this? Who's the mystery guy and what file from the Captain-"

"I don't know," he growls, stepping back, crossing his arms over his chest to keep from holding her, reaching for her. "I don't know. I don't know. How many damn times do I have to say it, Kate?"

Her eyes flicker back to his; she looks stricken, sick. She looks like she wants to hit him.

"I think I deserve to know what the hell is going on here," he grits out. "What happened to your mom and why are so pissed at me for this?" He waves a hand back at the monitor and glares at her. "Because it's news to me too. You want to push me away and deny whatever this is between us, ignore the fact that I love you, that _he_ loves you, then fine. I get it. I'm not him. But that means you don't get to punish me for his mistakes."


	5. Chapter 5

**John Doe**

* * *

**by Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles**

* * *

He stares at his wife as she recounts the facts of her mother's murder. Cold and clinical, but her face betrays her. A darkness wells up, a wound that hasn't healed; he wants to touch her, ease it somehow.

She's watching the screen behind him, not looking at him, as if she needs it to guide her through her own history, as if she's the one with no memory. He shifts his body, wanting to intercept her gaze, but she looks away.

"We waited. At dinner we waited and she never showed."

He finds it strange that his hands are trembling, his heart pounding hard.

"So we went home, my dad and I. We went home thinking she was still at work and forgot to call. Even though we knew she'd never do that."

The way she looks now, so strong she's almost brittle with it, like she doesn't want to be doing this, like it _costs_ her something to speak the words - it makes him ache.

"But a cop was waiting for us," she gets out, swallowing slowly. "She'd been - stabbed. An alley in Washington Heights. My father - of course for a while - person of interest - but they ruled it as a random mugging. Still, he drank. And I lost him too. For a time."

Oh, Kate. He wants to wrap his arms around her, but he sees she's not really here, she's gone, away. She'd be like crystal to touch, hard and beautiful.

"The - we - you did this before," she says finally, her eyebrows knitting together, face flickering with pain. "You can't seem to stay out of it, can you?" Her words are a murmur, accusation and remembrance both.

He hates that he can't remember the wrong he's done, hates that she still holds him accountable for it. She goes on, doesn't stop to hear another apology.

"You looked at the case, found new evidence. Other murders tied to my mom's. I reopened it. We found her killer-"

"Oh God," he gasps, jerking forward, but she steps back.

She shakes her head. "Hired - hired killer. Not the guy behind everything."

_Sniper._ That's what it says on the board behind him. How many hired killers have there been?

"Haven't yet found who hired Dick Coonan to kill my mother. I had to - shoot him. Before I could ask."

"He died?" Castle asks, and he can feel his body curling inward, horror or shame, and he doesn't even know why, he has no idea why, but it feels wrong, a dishonor.

"I killed him," Kate affirms, and the burden attached to those words settles over him, heavy and oppressive. "And then last spring."

He waits, tries to be patient, tries so hard to keep from reaching for her.

"Last spring we found another piece of the puzzle but Captain - my friend - Captain Montgomery was murdered. He stood his ground to save our lives."

What - what the hell has he woken to? What the hell kind of _life_ is this?

"At his funeral, I was shot in the chest by a sniper."

"What?_ Kate_." He jerks towards her, captures her face with his palms, staring down into her, his whole body tearing open, grief pouring out of him so strong and so overwhelming that he can't breathe. "Kate - God, Kate-"

She curls her hands at his wrists and steps back, ducking her face away from him. "Haven't managed to catch the sniper," she says clearly, her voice sharp and direct. It does something for him, yanks him out of the emotional maelstrom that he doesn't even have a reference point for, gives him a guiding star to find his way back to reality.

He drops his hands, takes a breath. "Someone wants - wants you dead."

She nods shortly.

"Shit."

She averts her eyes; he can tell she's back to staring at the board. "And. Apparently, you are - taking on more than you can handle. Alone."

He feels seasick. "At least - at least I brought a gun with me?"

She closes her eyes and presses her fingers against her lids. Her words are a haunted murmur. "What have you done, Castle?"

His heart twists. If she would just let him comfort her, if she would just - he could make it better. He could help. He loves her; he could make it easier.

"I just want to help," he says, and he can tell how hollow his own voice sounds in the space between them, how it echoes.

She lowers her hands, stares at him. "You wanted to help? You should have told me. You should have told me instead of - of doing whatever it was you did that required fifty thousand dollars and hardware and my gun - and - and what the hell were you thinking, trying to _help_ me?"

He lifts both hands, captures her wrists as she comes at him, keeps her from getting away. "I meant. I meant just now. Whatever he was doing-"

"You. Whatever _you_ were doing, Castle. It's not a different person. It's you."

He sighs. "Whatever I was doing. Which I have no idea what that was. But I don't think it was intended to hurt you. Just help you. Because you deserve to know what happened to your mom, and it's obvious that it hurts you, that it still weighs-"

"You have no right to talk to me about my mom." She jerks her arms out of his grip and stalks away.

His heart pounds; he has to fight the urge to get to his knees and beg her even as his indignation flares up. "You said I'm him. Not a different person. If he has the right, then so do I. Don't be a hypocrite, Kate."

She spins back around, her face livid, eyes on fire with something he can't identify, and this is not the woman of his dreams, not the wife who comforted him in the lighting storm, not the sleepy smile that greeted their children.

God, he's lost so much. So much. And there's no way to get it back. Because it's not even real.

He bows his head, sinks to the edge of the desk, hands on his knees. It's gone. It's all gone.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he gets out, his voice raw. "You're right. I don't - I don't know your mom, her murder. I don't know you. I don't - I don't even know you."

_I have no right over you, no claim._

He has nothing.

* * *

Oh, it hurts.

It _hurts._

And she can't even let it out, can't even be mad at him, not when he's looking at her with so much incomprehension, and yet so much freaking _understanding_ in his eyes. How can he know her and not know her at the same time?

Damn it, Castle. She needs - she needs him to *know*, needs him to explain why, why on earth he thought this was a good idea, going behind her back, never telling her-

Except she knows already, doesn't she? Castle is right, even in his ignorance. Helping. He thought he was helping. Protecting her, probably, too. Idiot. Kate Beckett doesn't need protecting.

But she's massaging her scar with two fingers even as she thinks that, and that scar is evidence to the contrary - evidence that she's mortal, that she's not invincible, that she might even need protection every once in a while. How would she act if things had been reversed, if she'd been the one holding a bleeding Castle in her arms, watching the life leak out of him?

She shivers and tries to push it back, to cling to the anger. She doesn't want to understand him, to feel sorry for him. She wants to be mad that he took something that was hers, her mother's case, and worked on it _without her_. Behind her back. He didn't share any of it, the new information, the leads...

But it's not working. She's no longer angry. Instead her heart throbs in her chest, bleeds for them both - the man sagged against the desk, his whole body bowed in defeat, the devastated look on his face when he said he didn't know her; and her own wounds, always raw, so ready to open that she's starting to wonder if they will ever heal.

Kate rubs her palm to her lips; not that there's any moisture to wipe off, when her mouth is so completely dry.

_Just breathe._ Take it easy.

She wipes her hands on her jeans, tries to move past the hurt and betrayal that linger in her chest.

"That's not true, Castle," she says softly, and he must have been deep in thought as well, because the look he levels on her is confused, startled. So much pain in it, too. She takes a step forward, can't help it.

"You know me," she tells him. "In fact, you probably know me better than anyone."

The pain recedes as something sparks in his eyes, not pleasure - a sense of relief, maybe.

"I do?" he says, and she hates that he's so uncertain, hates that he's forgotten so much that he won't even bask in her admission. Of course, she probably wouldn't admit to it if he was himself. Ah, well.

She nods slowly, finds that her lips are curling into something of a smile. "Yes. You *understand* me, Castle. Most of the time, anyway."

He's smiling now; it starts in his eyes, nestles there, and then trickles down to the corners of his mouth. She feels the sudden, completely inappropriate urge to kiss him, feel his lips under hers, swallow the gasp she will draw from him-

No.

His face darkens, provides the distraction she needs. "If I understand you... Then why did I do this?" He jerks his head towards the storyboard that she feels should have stayed Nikki's and Nikki's only; Kate presses her lips together, tries to keep herself from feeling too much.

Her heart is threatening to burst with all the things she fiercely keeps in, refuses to voice.

"Why did I do this, Kate, if I know you so well? I must have known it would hurt you."

She's standing close enough that he can curl a hand at her waist, nudge her to his side; she doesn't think he's even aware that he's doing it.

She sighs, settles against the desk next to him. "My guess is-"

"What?" he asks eagerly.

He's going to make her say it, then. "I think - the only reason you would have kept this from me - is because you thought I'd be safer not knowing."

"Because it's the only thing that matters more to me than your happiness," he finishes, eyes lighting up with understanding. "Your safety. You were _shot._"

She tilts her head, watching him. His face-

He looks like he's on the verge of something. Like he's about to break the case wide open. But that can't...

"We do this a lot, don't we?" he asks suddenly, that bright, triumphant glow to his face. Knowledge. Memory. "The back and forth. You and I."

Kate suppresses the brutal flare of hope in her chest as best as she can, but when she speaks her voice holds some of that breathless exhilaration anyway. "Yeah. Yeah, we do. That's how we solve cases."

He has a distant look in his eyes, as if he's trying to track the memories, pin them down; but after a moment he lets out a breath, shakes his head. "Okay. Yeah. It feels...familiar. It makes sense."

Makes sense? Kate bites the inside of her cheek, controls her disappointment. She saw a flash of her Castle there, of the man who's been working with her for four years, and that - that's good. It's enough for now.

"Let's search your office and your room together," she decides. "I guess, if you had stuff to hide, those are the two places you'd go to first."

"I haven't found anything yet," he complains, and the distinct note of whining in his voice makes her smile.

"Patience isn't your number one quality, Castle," she tells him.

"Says the woman I've been waiting for for the last four years," he shoots back, making her jerk and turn in surprise.

She stares at him.

"What?" he shrugs. "You say that's how long we've been working together, but we're not a couple, and if what I feel for you is any indication..."

She feels her cheeks flame.

He finishes, "I guess I must have been hoping for more. And it must have gone on for a while."

The words gather like a flock of birds - _I was trying to be better, to be more for you, and I asked you to wait -_ but she won't release them. She's done getting distracted.

"You keep searching the office. I'll take your bedroom."

She waits for an innuendo that doesn't come, scolds herself.

_Move on, Beckett._

* * *

There's nothing.

He slams the last drawer shut, steps away from his desk as he lets his frustrated eyes sweep the room. He's gone through the open shelves (which he still thinks of as ridiculous - seriously, how can you ever focus when you can see everything that's going on in the living room?) and he has examined every corner of his desk; he's not sure where to go next.

He turned off the monitor (only way he would stop looking at his wife's - no, Kate's, _Kate's _- picture) and the rest of the space is pretty open. Not many places where he could hide stuff.

Unless.

His gaze stops on the very large photograph behind his desk (he really likes it, the perspective, how the stairs seem to never end) and he tilts his head.

Unless he has a secret safe.

Hidden behind one of the frames. It sounds like a terrible cliché, but at the same time there's something exciting, something thrilling about the idea. Yes, he decides. He's probably the secret safe type.

It sounds a lot more fun than just entrusting a bank with your most precious possessions, anyway.

He gauges the stairs picture - probably too big for him to handle on his own; he'll start with the others. The third frame that he carefully detaches from the wall, a beautiful black and white photograph of the Brooklyn Bridge, proves him to be right.

He grins, opens his mouth to call Kate, stops himself just in time. There's a combination, of course, and he's got no idea what it is.

Damn.

He sets the photograph down on the floor, resting it against the wall, and he places his fingers around the dial, tentatively. He remembered how to sign his name, didn't he? Maybe this will be the same. If only he can relax, find something else to fix his mind onto.

Easier said than done. He can't think of anything else but getting that safe to open. He closes his eyes, breathes in and out, and tries to distance himself by recalling the last scraps of his dream, Kate smiling at him in their bed, the slow arousal pooling in his belly...

Nope.

He's still stuck.

He opens his eyes, gives the safe a belligerent look. Oh well.

"Kate?" he calls. Maybe she'll have a better idea.

"Yeah?"

She emerges from his bedroom, dark hair falling messily around her face, so gorgeous that he feels like he's just been punched in the gut. Seriously, how does he usually manage working with her? Has he gotten used to it? Because right now, he's having the hardest time forcing his mind past the lovely curve of her neck, the sharp line of the cheekbones, the bright glow of her eyes.

"What, Castle?"

He gestures to the safe, steps back so she can take a look.

"Any idea how to open this?" he asks, when he's sure his voice isn't going to bail on him.

She turns the dial towards the right, the left, shakes her head in frustration. "I don't-"

She stops, and he can tell she's just been hit by a brilliant idea; she swivels back to him, triumph dancing in her dark eyes.

"But you do. You know a guy, Castle."

"I do?" If so, he sure hopes she remembers the guy's name, because he doesn't.

"Yeah. A guy who used to be a professional jewel thief. You used his expertise for one of your novels. Ah...Powell. Yeah. That's his name. Let me see; you had a. . ." She rifles through a few things on his desk, comes up with an honest-to-goodness little black book. Who keeps those any more?

She scrolls through his contacts, finds Powell's name, and puts it into the handset on his desk, hitting the call button before he can even ask. He waits, his whole being curled in anticipation, breathless as if his life depends on a single phone call.

And maybe it does.

* * *

There are a couple rings during which Kate puts the phone on speaker, meets Castle's eyes with an uneasy feeling, the two of them facing off over his desk. She didn't find any of the things he supposedly bought yesterday in his bedroom, and it makes her more nervous than she'd like.

At last, someone picks up the phone - Powell. She recognizes the smooth, educated voice.

"Well, Ricky. You calling me every day now? You're going to run out of favors soon, you know."

"Powell? This is Detective Beckett. We met-"

"Ah, the lovely Kate Beckett, I remember."

"You said Castle called you? When was this?"

"What is this about, Detective?"

Castle interrupts. "Hey man, I guess we're buds or something but-"

"_Buds?_" Powell says, evident distaste on his tongue. "You sir, are not-"

"Look, Mr. Powell. Sir. I need your help. Castle needs your help. He's lost his memory and I'm trying to pinpoint what happened to him, what led to this. Can you tell me when he called you?"

"Ah. I am truly sorry to hear that, Rick." A deep sigh on his end and Kate scrubs at her forehead to keep from jumping through the phone and demanding information. She was just calling to see if he'd crack Castle's safe, but now this might be an actual lead.

"Thanks, man. Any help you can give - I appreciate. And when I remember you again, I'll be sure to owe you one."

A dry chuckle on the other end of the line and Rick meets her eyes with a hopeful smile, as if he were holding two thumbs up.

She sighs, but Powell cuts into her exasperation. "Rick called me yesterday from his cell. Around 3. Check his phone - I'm sure it can tell you exactly when-?"

She doesn't have his iphone, and she can't pull his call log. She'd need a warrant for that, and Kate's not sure she wants to get a judge involved in this just yet.

"Mr. Powell, what was the conversation about?"

"I'm not sure I should-"

"Look, whatever it was," Kate starts, hesitates as it really hits home to her. He called a professional safe-cracker and thief yesterday. He went to a hardware store and bought strange items. "Whatever it was, I promise you. Your name will never be mentioned in any police report. Your name will never even enter into the record."

There's a long silence and then a weighty sigh. "It's not me I'm worried about. Rick asked me about a keyed safe, and when I couldn't get him the specs, he asked me for general tools."

"Would those tools include 2 blank keys, a keying kit, a welding rod, a welding torch kit, and a pair of safety goggles?" she asks, her heart pounding.

Powell clears his throat. "Yes, Detective Beckett. They would."

Oh damn. Oh Castle.


	6. Chapter 6

**John Doe**

* * *

He doesn't speak during the ride back to the precinct.

Kate isn't used to silence, at least not from him - she keeps glancing sideways at him, trying to read his face, but the blue eyes that are usually so open are firmly staring through the window, and he doesn't let anything show.

She sighs, turns back to the road when the light goes green, worries her bottom lip.

A keyed safe.

Castle bought the tools to break into a safe. According to Powell, a heavy-duty lockbox of some kind. Powell has promised to stop by the loft sometime later and get Castle's wall safe open, but he didn't want an audience for it. So they're heading back to the precinct.

A safe. Castle went out last night to _break in_ to a safe.

But which safe? And why? Her mind wants to jump to conclusions and she has to hold it back, rein herself in, because all the things she's picturing-

Yeah. Not pretty.

She parks the car in one of the spaces outside the precinct, moves to open the door. Castle's hand stops her, curls at her elbow.

"Kate."

She draws in a long breath.

"Yes?"

His eyes meet hers, finally, and she sees fear warring with determination, something she wants to call stubbornness. Something very Castle.

"What could the safe be?" he asks, and she can tell he wants and doesn't want to know.

She licks her lips.

"Something to do with your mother's case, right?" he goes on, obviously voicing the thoughts that have been circling in his mind. "Something to do with that mystery file, you think? The one that's on the board that you didn't know about? That man who called me - he has it and I-"

"I don't-" She doesn't finish, bites her lip hard, hates herself for the almost lie. No use lying, Beckett. Not when she promised. "Probably," she admits, and her voice is too thin, too thready. Not good.

But if it's because of her... Oh, god. The blood on his shirt, the gun in his hand - if he's killed someone, if _Castle murdered someone because of her-_

The guilt tears through her chest, rips her apart. Oh, oh. _Castle._

"Hey." His hand slides down to her wrist, circles it, orients her towards him. She doesn't want to look - she can't - but then his fingers are abandoning her arm and cupping her cheek, and he's not giving her a choice.

"Don't do this," he murmurs, and his blue eyes are tender and caressing, completely without anger or resentment. It's so...not right.

Kate ducks her head, feels the stupid tears pooling in her throat, pushing at her eyelids. No no no-

His thumb follows the line of her cheekbone, lingers at the corner of her eyes, and oh, he can't do that. He just can't; he's not him. She can't let him think he can do this.

But she can't tell him to stop either, not when the words won't get past her chest, not when it's already so hard to breathe. Oh, please, please, let her be wrong. Maybe he didn't do anything, maybe someone planted the gun on him, and then the blood could be...

"Kate," he whispers, and then he's tugging at her, pulling her into an awkward half-embrace, and she shouldn't let him, because really half the precinct could walk by - Gates could come out and see them, even, and how bad would that be?

She doesn't want to have to explain herself-

But he smells like soap and fear and something good, something warm that must be _him_, and she closes her eyes and just for a second, just for a second, she rests her nose against the side of his neck, feels the throb of his pulse, relaxes against him.

He's there, he's alive. They're together.

It really can't be so bad, can it?

* * *

"It looks pretty bad," Esposito tells her immediately, giving her a straight, serious look. The hints of desolation in Ryan's eyes make her nervous, jittery.

"What?" she says.

Castle is at her back, hovering, but she ignores him for now.

"You found where the money went?" she asks.

Ryan shakes his head, but it's Esposito who answers.

"No, not yet. But we asked the guy at the hardware store, showed him Castle's picture, and Mr. Decker remembers him. Vividly."

The bad feeling in Kate's guts intensifies, burns, and she has to move, step back, run a hand through her hair. "What is it?"

"He said Castle looked like he was in a hurry," Ryan says, that sorry tone to his voice that makes Kate want to shake him. "Intense. Not _angry_ but - rushed, and anxious, and jittery. He got mad because Mr. Decker didn't have the keying kit that Castle wanted, and he got - belligerent."

_Belligerent? _"But - but he bought one, didn't he?" She doesn't understand. Seriously? She can't quite picture Castle hassling a man over anything. And anyway-

"Yeah, but he made Mr. Decker go through the back room until he found it. Decker was put out, kinda freaked by how intense Castle was with him."

"So?" Is this why they're looking at her like her grandmother just died? Because Castle manhandled some employee in a hardware store? "That's all you've got? It's _nothing_," she snaps, can't help it, although it's not their fault and she really can't afford to lose it.

Her insides are curled up defensively, but she feels Castle's hand brushing at her back; it brings everything into focus. She exhales slowly. "Guys. That doesn't prove a thing one way or another."

Esposito gives her a dark look. "He bought that equipment knowing exactly-"

"Knowing exactly what? It's just tools, Esposito. Tools to break a safe, yes. But not weapons. You can't kill anybody with a set of blank keys."

"But a set of blank keys wasn't the only thing he had on him, was it?"

She sets her jaw and stares at Javier, rage seething inside her. It's _Castle_ - does Esposito really believe - they're supposed to be friends-

Oh, wow. Okay. Okay. She's overreacting. She needs to step back, take a breath.

Kate closes her eyes and rubs her fingertips against her forehead, sighing. A hand settles on her shoulder, large and warm, and honestly, Castle has to stop with the touching-

"We need to figure out how he got your gun," Ryan says quietly, and yes, _yes. _They should do that.

But before-

"Lunch," she decides suddenly, finally understanding why she's so on edge, struggling to keep everything bottled up. She needs food, needs something to sustain her. She's too...raw.

As if on cue, Castle's stomach rumbles loudly, and she smiles, feels the relaxation of it spread to her tense muscles, loosen the knots. Oh, yeah.

Better.

Her partner looks a little ashamed, boyish and adorable, but when she turns to him, he grins at the look on her face. So proud.

"Come on, Castle," she nudges. "Let's go feed you."

* * *

He moans again, sucks down the strawberry shake even as her heart jackrabbits in her chest. He's got to stop that. She can't withstand the need in his eyes if he's also combining it with those sounds-

"This is amazing. This is the best milkshake I've ever-" He pauses, startled, and lifts ashamed eyes to her. "Ah. So my range of experience is limited to simply today. But I'm pretty sure I've not had one this good in ages."

"Or since the last time we were here," she suggests, lifting an eyebrow.

"That too. And these burgers are fantastic."

She laughs, can't help it, and shoots him a smug look. "You always refused to admit that before, Castle."

"Arg. You gotta tell me these things, Beckett."

Her hope soars wildly beyond her reach at the sound of her name tumbling out of him, natural and easy, that smile she knows, the teasing.

"No way. I'm getting all the honest answers here," she shoots back, finishing the last of her own veggie burger and licking mustard from her thumb. "I like this naive version of you."

"I don't," he grumbles. "Ooh, although. If everything is new for me - I have a whole host of experiences that are gonna be awesome. Lots of first times." He slants a look at her, all smoldering and sexy, and she has to regain control. Has to.

"First time's always awkward, Castle, and a little ahh, premature? I'm sure yours was - will be - too."

He gapes at her, then gives her one of those beaming, smooth looks. His eyes turn darkly intense on her. "You are so smoking hot when you say stuff like that."

She blinks, sits back in the booth, food flipping in her stomach. He can't just - he can't pull that out like it's an everyday thing. She takes a shaky breath and pushes her hair back behind her ear. Avoids his eyes.

"Ah. I'm spilling all my secrets? First the burgers, now you. But surely I've told you that before? Not just your hotness, but your intelligence. Your compassion."

His eyes are warm and tender like he knows all about her, like he's just waiting for her, as he always has been. He's even using his own lines to get to her, to peel back all her armor. She wishes - for just an instant - she could do the same, spill all her secrets, let herself look at him the way she wants to, wipe it clean and start over with him.

"Well. I - we should finish and go."

His face falls. "I don't want to go back."

She startles. "Castle-"

"Sorry. Sorry," he sighs and slumps down. "But. Can we do a time out?"

Kate sways in the booth, her eyes slamming shut. This isn't Castle. This isn't - he never gives up like this. For a moment, she forgot he was gone, and she had him, and now he's this again. This guy who looks like hers, but really isn't.

"Kate, I just need to - it's too much. I need to - I need to process. I need help to - I need your help."

She opens her eyes and he's staring at her, body tilted forward, eyes pleading. "You've got my help, Castle. Always."

"Then can we go home? I just want to go home."

She opens her mouth to say _of course_, but she's arrested by the look in his eyes. He doesn't mean his loft; he means -

Her.

He wants her.

* * *

The break for lunch was much-needed - those few minutes to stop thinking so frantically, to go back and forth with her, to feel like he was normal - he needed that. He needs more of that. But he feels less for asking, feels ashamed for asking. Like he's disappointed her.

Still, he sits in the passenger seat as Kate drives him back to the loft, rubs at his forehead as he stares out the window.

After a moment, he realizes this isn't the same route, they're not heading in the same direction as before.

"Where are we going?"

"Home," she says simply, and she keeps her eyes on the road.

He starts paying attention, watches the cityscape and tries to orient himself. It's hopeless - he has no landmarks. It's not his apartment though, that much he knows.

When she parks, he gets out with her, stands by the car as she comes around the hood and takes him by the arm. He's surprised by her touch, but he reaches over and closes his hand around hers.

She doesn't pull away. In fact, she nudges closer and gets him to move; he lets her lead them towards the building. She's got her keys out and it must be her place - she's taken him to her apartment. _Her_ home.

He has to let go of her so she can unlock the door; she pushes it open and ushers him inside, gives him a small smile.

"Have I - I've been here before?"

"Yes."

"Can you elaborate?" he says cautiously. How far into her place has he gone? She's not been in his bedroom, but has he been in hers?

She turns a strange look on him, takes him by the hand and tugs him towards the staircase. "You come over. Sometimes with an idea about the case. But usually when - when we're in crisis. Like now."

They're in crisis. Yeah. It's more than a little depressing. "I never just come to visit?"

"Sometimes," she shrugs, then gives him a swift smile. "Actually, yeah. A few times - we were working on something together. You - you gave me flowers."

Those two things are related? "I'd like to work on something with you."

She huffs at him, but he didn't mean it like that. Or well, he did but not so - not so dirty. She shakes her head as she mounts the steps, lets go of his hand. He bumps into her as she moves out of the landing and towards the hall; she catches him by the forearm and he follows her to a door.

Her apartment, when he finally gets inside, is amazing. It's pieced together deliberately, part industrial and part traditional, a combination of elements that reflect back her personality so clearly that he doesn't even have to know her. He can see her all over this place. "Yours is way cooler than mine," he breathes.

She laughs and dumps her stuff on the kitchen counter, slides her shoes off. "Just different."

"You've got to have some money. Come on. Can't afford this on a detective's salary." He's distracted by the art work on the living room wall, and he steps in closer to frame her hips with his hands, drawing her into an embrace.

She stiffens, her hands fly to his, and he remembers. Shit.

He drops his arms, steps back. His heart is pounding, his mouth dry. He shouldn't - he needs to get control of this. She's the only thing keeping him together and if he keeps accidentally pushing at her boundaries, he's not sure she'll stick around. She seems strong and unwavering, but there's a core of her that's very well-protected. And he's a stranger now.

_She's not his wife._

"Sorry," he mutters, making fists at his sides. "Force of habit." A habit that isn't his, that he must be used to constantly denying.

Kate turns; she's staring at him with something in her eyes he can't name. So many things he can't name, a shared history that's closed to him. He wants it _back. _

She swallows and dips her chin, then lifts her head like she's made some kind of decision.

He can't - he needs this. He can't do this if she pulls away from him.

"Family money," she says quietly. Her voice is rough, but she clears her throat. "I don't use it often, but I'm not above spending what I need."

His chest eases; she's not going to talk about it. She's going to move right past it. Okay. He can do that. He can and will keep his hands to himself.

"Castle," she says.

He lifts his eyes back to hers, finds her intent and trusting and so determined. "Yeah?"

"You and I." Statement. Not a question.

His breath catches. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she says softly. "Yeah."

He lurches forward, but she stays him with a hand at his chest.

"But there's - there's a wall, Castle. And I'm trying. Have been. And so we - there's not anything . . . resolved."

So. . .no touching?

"But now you need. . .me," she says quietly.

Oh God, he does. He needs her. And he's not sure what she means, can't understand if her positive answer was really all that positive. Does _yeah_ mean that this isn't just in his head? Does it mean that he can have this?

"I love you," he says into her silence. Because it can't hurt, can it? It's the only thing he knows, and even if the memory of her in his home, _as _his home, is garbled and messed up and really just a dream, that doesn't make the knowledge wrong. His instinct is to move towards her, always towards her, and that can't be wrong.

She watches him for a long time, then slowly her fingers curl at his chest, over his heart, protective. "There's a lot - a whole lot - we just take for granted, that we leave unsaid. It doesn't have to be said. We both know the truth."

He knows it so well it's not even memory - it's his whole being. "But not being able to be with you is driving me crazy, making everything feel off, wrong. It feels wrong, Kate-"

She presses her fingers against his chest. "I can - I see that. And I know that it's not fair - those unsaid things - because you don't know any of it if I don't say it first. So, Castle?"

"Yeah?" He lifts his hand to cover hers, aches to touch more of her. He wants to erase the trepidation, the uncertainty from her eyes. He wants her to know that he knows. He knows what they should be. All he needs is for her to know it as well.

"I'm only going to say this once. And then, you're going to have to pretend I never said it. Put it out of your mind."

She quirks her lips at the irony, and his heart pounds. She's - this is - she's going to say it. What he knows, he _knows_ is between them. What he needs to hang on to.

"But Castle?"

"What?" he scrapes out.

"Promise me. After this, it's back to the case. We need to find out what happened to you; we have to figure out how you got my gun. After this-"

"I got it," he says in a rush, on the painful edge of memory, almost able to see it, but still just beyond his reach. "I get it. Back to the case. I promise."

"You need to know this." She steps in closer, slides her arm up and around his neck, brings her mouth in close to barely skim the surface of the inch of air between them. She presses her cheek to his; he can feel the flutter of her lashes, feel the way her heart pounds - a crazy-fast rhythm that shakes them both.

"Castle, I love you back."


	7. Chapter 7

**John Doe**

* * *

He cannot keep his promise. He can't _not_ react to this, can't step back and pretend he hasn't heard her, can't focus on the case again.

It's just - not possible.

His body lets out a long sigh, relief and knowledge and crazy, pounding joy, and then he's turning her face up to his with his palm, leaning down to caress the seam of her mouth with his tongue, reverent and slow even as his heart threatens to burst with happiness.

Kate kisses him back, making that tiny, adorable noise at the back of her throat as she curls a hand around his neck, the other one fisting in his shirt, like she needs him closer, can't get enough of him-

He jerks back suddenly, a cold shiver running down his spine, his head spinning with the images that flash into his brain, too much, so quick that he can't follow, can't cope.

He backs into the couch, almost trips on it, and his hand clenches against a leather cushion as he takes a deep breath, tries to understand, tries to stay standing under it. Kate is watching him, hurt flickering in her eyes, but she doesn't move towards him, doesn't crowd him, and he's grateful.

He just needs to-

"Kiss," he says, as if saying the word could help organize the jumble in his brain. And it kinda does, actually. Things start making sense, start looking a little less crazy. Oh. Oh, that's - memory?

"I kissed you before."

Her mouth falls open as she realizes what's happening, but she says nothing, merely presses her fingertips to her lips, waiting on him. Her eyes are wide, and if he wasn't trying so hard to give meaning to the images in his mind, he would go to her and press his mouth-

Ah, yeah.

"Parking garage," he says, breathless, his heart pounding. "No, wait, no. Not a garage - a street? But cars. There were parked cars. And you - you knocked someone down?"

It can't be true - it sounds ridiculous - but Kate's face lights up, and he sees how hard she tries to push down the delight, the hope. Okay. True, then.

"And it wasn't. The only time. Was it?"

She stays silent, won't say a word - letting him do all the work. And although it's driving him nuts, he knows she's right, can feel the memories pressing at his consciousness, crowding there, and if he can just - get a hold of one of them-

"Swingset."

He closes his eyes, slowly breathes in and out, letting the image get clearer.

It's not - he can't - one minute she's sitting on the swings, giving him a meaningful look that dislodges the anger still rumbling in his chest, and the next moment she's standing, he's holding her hand, and her mouth comes up against him, caressing.

He feels calm and certain, his love a sharp, pulsing thing against his ribs-

Is that - is that two memories, tangled up? It has to be, because there's no way he could have felt all these different things...

He lifts his eyes to Kate, studying her, trying to make up his mind.

"You kissed me, at the swings," he says tentatively. "You kissed me and I was sure-"

She comes to him then, as if she can't resist the impulse that pushes her forward, throws herself against his chest, her arms tight around his ribs, her face buried into his neck. "Yes, yes," she murmurs, so much joy in those two words, so much bubbling relief that he's a little scared.

It's only two memories; it's nowhere near good enough. What if the rest never comes back?

But he holds her anyway, cradles her to him because it feels good, feels right; the warmth, the reality of her slim body against his helps his mind settle down, gentles his hammering heart.

"Anything else?" she asks after a long moment, and he has to battle hard to keep the sinking feeling out of his voice when he answers.

"No."

The surprise of her lips against his skin makes his chest flutter, and then she's moving away, meeting his eyes determinedly. Strong, indomitable. God, she's gorgeous.

"That's _good_, Castle," she tells him, as if she knows exactly what he was just thinking. "It's more than good. It means the memories are still there, and you just have to - find the key, find a way to access them."

Right.

She must read doubt in his eyes, because she steps closer again, takes his hand between both of hers. "We can do this."

Okay. She believes it, obviously she does, and it's - it's enough for him. Enough for now.

"Kate?" He might as well ask.

She shoots him a questioning look, and he releases a long breath, finds himself so very reluctant to speak. If he's wrong, if it's not a memory but just another dream-

"At the - at the swings. I feel - confused? Because I both remember us sitting in them, and then we're standing beside them, and-" Oh. The details are much clearer now. "You weren't dressed the same," he finishes, breathless with his discovery.

She beams at him, looks so pleased that it ricochets through his chest, sparks a warm feeling there.

"You're right. The first time we went there - it was after I got shot, after I stayed away for the whole summer, and you were...mad at me." She swallows, and he marvels at the accuracy of the feelings that go with the memory. Anger. Yes.

"With good reason," she adds, her jaw set. "So I came to your book signing, and you wouldn't listen to me. But then -" she knits her brow, shakes her head. "I don't know, somehow we ended up at that swing-set, and I told you that I needed my mother's case closed in order to be who I wanted to be. So I could - so I could be with you."

He nods slowly, because although he doesn't remember a word of that conversation, it fits. It fits.

"And the second time?" he asks, needing to know.

A smile blooms on her face, and she looks down at her feet, almost shy. Oh, how he wants to kiss her-

"It was this summer," she says. "You didn't spend a lot of time at the precinct because you were working on the new Nikki Heat, but sometimes you'd stop by and bring me lunch, or take me out of the precinct. You texted me that day, asked me to meet you at the swings. I hadn't seen you in - maybe a week?"

She looks up at him and tilts her head, her eyes so bright, heavy and rich with their secrets, all the things unsaid between them.

"I think it was your way to - to renew your promise? To tell me you had waited, and were still waiting, and that you...You'd wait as long as I needed."

The look on her face, so loving, tender and grateful, takes his breath away. Yeah. Of course he would wait for her.

"And you kissed me," he nudges, because he wants the whole story, wants the picture in his mind to be complete.

She smiles again, a little proud, a little dark, dazzling. "And I kissed you."

His body reacts to her, all of her, her words, her voice, her eyes. Oh. Okay. So maybe he doesn't need details after all. Except-

"And were there, uh. Other times we kissed?"

He hopes not. He hopes he remembers them all, every chance his lips have had to flirt with hers, every time her body has gone soft and pliant in his arms.

But her eyes darken, the joy dimming, and he knows.

"A few," she breathes, and he can taste her apology in the silence that expands around them, her regret for remembering when he doesn't - which is stupid really, because it's not something either of them can help.

Amnesia sucks. Has he said that?

"There was this one time," she says, pushing her hair back with her hand, and his attention shifts to her, sharp and needy. "You convinced me to try this Italian place that opened a couple months ago near the precinct. We had dinner there - you said the food wasn't as good as you'd hoped," she smiles, rolls her eyes. "And then you insisted on walking me home."

"I did, huh?"

"Uh-huh," she says, her face soft as she looks back at him. "And you kissed me at the door."

He nods once, storing the precious knowledge away, torn between sorrow at the memory he doesn't have and pleasure that he's at all able to put that look in her eyes. Shimmering, and a little dreamy, and not at all like anything he'd have expected to see on her.

He's only starting to realize how many facets there are to this woman.

"Thank you," he offers quietly, squeezing the hand that she must have forgotten against his chest. He can tell how hard it is for her to share, and he's - it means everything.

She lifts up on tiptoe, brushes her mouth to his cheek. He closes his eyes, savors the contact; he tries to resist the urge at first, to content himself with what he has. But the second before she moves away, he can't help it: he turns his face, puts a hand at her waist to stay her, let their lips touch briefly.

Another one.

Another one he remembers.

There's understanding in her eyes when she steps back, sad and sweet, and she doesn't comment. She just laces their fingers, starts walking him towards the door.

_Right_, he thinks, trying to control his emotion, to soothe the tempest raging in his heart. Right.

The case.

* * *

The ride back to the precinct is different this time; the air feels different between them.

She's given away a lot - _too much - _and she expected to feel exposed, but she doesn't, she's not. She's relieved. It's still Castle, but somehow that was easier, letting it all go, laying it out on the table. Castle and yet not Castle.

She'll still have to be careful though. Because this Castle doesn't know when to stop. And her Castle was still _waiting_.

"Uh, so Kate?"

Uh-oh. Here it comes, right? The questions she can't answer.

"How exactly did you not notice I had your gun?"

She lets out a long breath, hands gripping the wheel. "Yeah, I - I guess you took it when you left the 12th last night."

"But - don't you - unless we had some nice, long good-bye hug in which I got a chance to feel you up, I don't see how that's possible."

She huffs on a laugh she doesn't want, rolls her eyes at him. "Not my service piece, Castle. Jeez. My extra weapon. I keep it in the bottom drawer of my desk."

"Oh." He hesitates only a moment. "I took your back-up?"

She grits her teeth. He _is_ her back up. "Yes. It's usually locked in the drawer, so - I guess you - you took the keys when I wasn't looking."

"I'm sorry."

Yeah, okay, she's getting pissed about that too, but it's not fair to blame him for it. At least, not yet. "I know," she sighs. "I - I trust you, Castle. To be honest, I take it with me when I serve an arrest warrant or I feel like we're going into a potentially dangerous situation. Just in case."

"Just in case?"

"In case you need it," she finishes, hating that she does that, hating that she knows she's putting him in danger and that she might possibly have to hand him a gun. "If you needed my weapon last night, I'm - I can't say that I'm angry you had it. I just wish you'd told me."

He lets out a surprised sound, but she can't look at him. It's too much. He took a risk; he felt he needed her gun badly enough to steal it from her - borrow, he'd probably say - and she wouldn't - the thing is, she wouldn't have said no.

Of course, she'd have come with him. But apparently he didn't want her there.

"I wish you hadn't done it," she mutters to herself, the weight of it on her shoulders.

After a long moment, she hears him shifting in the seat beside her; she cuts her eyes to his and he looks so desolate.

"Me too. I wish I - I wish I hadn't."

* * *

He took her gun. Stupid, so stupid. He should've called someone - that guy, Powell, who knows about safe-cracking? He should've called that guy and asked for a gun, right? He shouldn't have dragged Kate into this.

He should've thought of this ahead of time. Kept her name out of it. How stupid and thoughtless could he be? If he truly loved her, like he should, he would never have done that. No wonder she holds herself apart from him, no wonder she didn't want to tell him anything. She's right to not trust him with the truth.

She gets a spot next to a couple of patrol cars; he clambers out feeling graceless, shuffles towards the precinct behind her. She reaches back before they get inside, and her fingers slide at his waist, squeeze his hip. A moment of contact before they're going through lobby security.

"So I took your weapon-"

"Shh," she hisses at him, giving him a look, flicking her eyes to the officer standing by the metal detector. "That's not - not official, Castle."

It's not - oh. She - she's hiding evidence? "You didn't - that's not in the - Kate?"

"There's an investigation, but it's not entirely on record at the moment. Okay? Just leave it at that."

"Kate. You can't do that." Not for him. Not for this - when it was his stupid idea to take her gun and get her snared in this.

"I have to. For right now. There's no body; the blood on your clothes isn't enough to require a homicide investigation. Two rounds are gone, and there was gunshot residue on your hands, but there's no crime. Yet."

"I shot someone." He remembers just in time to lower his voice; Kate's been waved through and he hurries to collect his watch, the wallet he had on him when he was admitted to the hospital but which really holds no answers.

"Not necessarily. You could have just - shot at someone? Something. There's no body, Castle."

He rubs his hand over his eyes as they get to the elevator. She presses the button, then turns to him, her body blocked from the lobby by his own. She presses her palm to his chest for a brief moment, fingers at the mad thump of his heart. He watches her, wants to hold her, needs it, but he shouldn't.

He's done enough damage to her professionally, hasn't he? He needs to rein this in.

It's just - just that in this moment, the way she's looking at him, tender and worried, she looks like the wife of his dream, of his memory, and he can almost feel her warm hand at his back and the bounce of the mattress as the kids climb in bed with them.

He swallows hard and the elevator doors open; she pushes him inside and they have to crowd to the back as other officers, detectives, and uniforms file in as well.

Leaning back in the corner, he gets a head nod from someone he doesn't know - but probably should - and then there's Kate right in front of him, her body so close he can smell the alluring fragrance of her hair and it reminds him of how her lips felt against his, the warmth, and his hand lifts under her jacket and settles at her hip.

She doesn't move; she doesn't react, but her fingers reach back between the wall of the elevator and their bodies, and she brushes at his thigh, quickly, a skimming touch, before the doors open and he has to let her go.

It's enough. It helps.

As soon as they step off, they run right into Esposito and Ryan, the four of them colliding hard. Castle grabs Kate by the forearm and steadies her; Ryan rubs his chest where an elbow got him.

"Where are you guys running to?"

"Tech traced the money. The account. We got an address."

* * *

She should be glad for the lead, glad that they're moving, that the investigation is going somewhere. Her belly should be fluttering with excitement and danger, the way it always does when a case picks up.

But it's not.

There's nothing but cold, slimy fear clogging her veins.

"Stay behind me," she tells Castle as she unholsters her gun, finding comfort in the way her fingers close around the grip, cool and familiar.

Ryan and Esposito are making their way up the sidewalk - they had to park a little further away, but she got a spot right in front of the building, the address they traced the money back to.

It looks rather dumpy, like it needed new paint twenty years ago, and even that wouldn't be enough to cover the dirty windows, the rusted fire escape, the heavy, abandoned feeling that the place exudes. There's a security code at the main door, but it turns out to be broken; they only have to push and they're inside, checking mailboxes to find the floor their guy lives on.

Fourth.

Beckett makes them take the stairs - the elevator looks small and cramped and treacherous, and she needs the space, needs to feel in control of this. Stairs are safer. Nobody can get the drop on her on the stairs.

Castle is at her back, radiating warmth; she hears his short little puffs of breath as he keeps up with her, and it strikes strange thoughts inside her, treacherous images of things that haven't been, his bare chest against hers, his mouth at her collarbone-

She shakes her head impatiently, furious at herself for losing her focus so easily. They've reached the fourth floor, and Esposito stops her from opening the door, gives her a look that says, _Let me go first._

Kate bites her lip, resists the urge to shake him off and take the lead. Instead she gives a brief nod, and _just for today, just for today, Kate_, she lets him.

Castle's fingers brush hers as he follows her, and she turns sharp eyes to him, a silent warning. Now's not the time.

Their energetic knocks on the door of apartment 42 go unanswered, but when Espo calls "NYPD, open up!" there's a sudden rush of footsteps inside. And it's not coming towards them.

Esposito and Ryan exchange a resigned look that almost brings a smile to Kate's lips, and then they're banging the door open and bursting into the apartment, weapons drawn.

"NYPD, freeze!"

* * *

He really hates waiting in the hallway while they get to do the fun stuff in there. The hall's boring. And he looks stupid. And she's in there. He wants to be where she is.

Still, she gave him this freezing glare that stopped him in his tracks; he may have lost his memories but he's not stupid.

That look? _Stay here, Castle._

Okay, maybe he's a little stupid. After the commotion is over, and it sounds like they got the guy - J. Cain, according to the mailbox downstairs - Castle sticks his head in the door and glances around.

"Castle!" she hisses, face thunderous as she heads for him.

"Hey. No way," the suspect groans. "Dude, you were an undercover cop? What the hell, man? That is so. Not. Cool."

Beckett stops in her tracks, her eyes linking with Castle's, and then she turns around, staring down the skinny man on his knees on the grubby floor. Balding, hook nose, a thin scar over his eyebrow, hands cuffed behind his back.

"You know this man?" Esposito says, jerking the guy up to his feet.

Castle clenches his fists, is about to say, _No, of course I don't._ But then the little guy bobs his head up and down, looking hopeful.

"Yeah, man, course I know him. He bought something from me. Dude, come on. Tell 'em. I'm harmless, right? I did the cop a favor, man."

Castle blinks at the guy, opens his mouth, but he's got nothing. Beckett steps in front of him and cuts off his line of sight.

"A favor he paid you for. Tell us."

"He's right there - you let him-"

"Tell us in your own words."

Castle slides over to look at the guy, and Cain's eyes are darting around the room, watching the detectives who have surrounded him.

"Man, come on. This isn't cool."

Cain's eyes land on him, looking petulant and cornered, and then the guy sighs loudly, shoulders slumping. "Dude bought a key card from me, okay? Man, not cool. I guess - I'm gonna need a lawyer."

A key card?


	8. Chapter 8

**John Doe**

* * *

"Espo, you and Ryan take him back. Book him for counterfeiting and fraud - the gun possession too."

The boys nod and lead Cain out the busted front door. She looks back at Castle, then glances down to the address the guy gave them. Cain made Castle a keycard to Hubbard Security Company, and then the writer came yesterday night and picked it up from him after the wire transfer went through. Apparently Castle put the order in months ago, but only recently was the card ready.

"Castle," she says, glancing over at him where he leans against the wall, head tilted back.

He looks defeated, bewildered, probably as confused as she is. "I don't know, Kate. I have no idea. Nothing is coming to me."

She nods. "Let's visit Hubbard, see what we can find."

"What if I - Kate? What if I broke in and they - they're looking for me?"

"You're with me, Castle. They can't do anything."

"Why would I need a keycard to-"

"Castle," she murmurs, making her way across the room to him. When she gets close, his head comes down to look at her, his eyes bleak. "We're going to figure this out."

"I don't know that I want to figure it out," he replies quietly, giving her a tight smile. "It just gets worse and worse. There was blood. I had a gun. I-" He clenches his teeth and closes his eyes.

She reaches out for the hand that lies limply at his side. She only meant to squeeze, reassure him with her touch, but he threads their fingers together and holds on as if for dear life, his eyes opening to stare intensely at hers.

"Remember what I said? I know you. You are a good man. Whatever happened, we will find out the truth. And Castle? I'll get you out of this. Trust me."

* * *

The woman sitting the front desk at Hubbard Security is a terrible liar.

"No, we haven't had any problems," she says, her bottom lip quivering as she nervously pushes her blonde hair back, shaking her head. "No - no one tried to break in last night."

Her pale blue eyes dart to the very apparent security camera in the ceiling (top quality, looks like) and come back to Kate. Beckett holds back a sigh, leans over the counter, whispers as if in confidence. "What is it, Holly? Did your client specifically ask you not to report it? Is that why you're trying to cover it up?"

From the panic that spreads over the woman's pale face, tightens her thin lips, Kate's guess is not far from the truth.

"Look," the detective says, conciliatory. "We're not here to make trouble. We just - we need a copy of the footage from that security camera," she nods towards it. "Last night, say from... 4pm to 5am this morning?"

Holly twists her hands anxiously, looks at her in something like despair. Kate is about to switch tactics when Castle's forearm slides alongside hers on the counter; she cuts her eyes to him, surprised, but he's intently watching the young woman behind the desk.

He smiles warmly, his eyes gentle, and he reaches for Holly's hand, squeezes it.

"Holly," he says, voice low and intimate. "We promise, you won't get in trouble for this. We're the police; you have to hand that video to us. It's the law, you know? But if you do it now, without arguing, we won't advertise that...unfortunate breach in your security. We're not trying to hurt your company here."

Holly looks at him, swallows, seems a little reassured, a little more confident. She takes a deep breath and give a tight nod.

"I'm going to call my supervisor, and ask her about this," she says with a feeble smile. "I think...I think she should understand."

She turns and walks to the end of the desk where the phone is - the luxurious, immense desk looks like it was made for three of her - and Kate shifts to face Castle fully, studying him. He has this proud, boyish glimmer in his eyes, like he did good and he knows it.

Which, well, is pretty much the truth.

"Good job," she says softly, watching the grin blossom on his face.

"Yeah?" He looks like he's about to squirm with happiness.

"Yeah," she answers. "She obviously needed a...softer touch."

Castle watches her for a moment, eyes shining in a way that makes it hard to remember the reason they're here. "That's what I do?" he asks suddenly, eagerly. "I help?"

She almost chokes on it; her throat is full and there's no getting words past that lump, not when she feels like she could start crying at any time.

"Kate?"

He starts towards her, a hand raised that seems aimed at her elbow, but Holly breaks the moment with an hesitant voice.

"Detectives?"

Kate steps back and take a lungful of air, her eyes burning with it, her heart thudding in random, scattered beats.

"Yes."

"If you will follow me?"

"Yes," Kate says briefly, not looking at Castle, and she strides after the blonde employee, bewildered at herself.

_Get a grip, Beckett._

* * *

Holly takes them through a maze of corridors, all very much alike, wide and impersonal with their cream paint and cream carpet, thick under his feet.

Castle tries to keep track of their path, but he gives up quickly. And he suspects she's doing it on purpose.

Kate is walking in front of him, her shoulders strained, all business-like; he's still not sure what happened to her at the reception desk. He has a feeling that maybe he should stop asking all these questions, because somehow they hurt her, somehow it pains her to realize the extent of the things he's forgotten, but he just - he can't.

He needs to know.

It itches, burns inside, and sometimes it just - he can't hold it in.

He sighs quietly and just then Holly takes a right turn, stops abruptly in front of a door which bears the number _110._ She knocks, and an older woman, in her fifties he'd say - with square glasses and gorgeous red hair that cannot be natural - comes to the door.

"These are the detectives," Holly says timidly, respectfully. "I brought them up like you said, Mrs. Linton."

"Thank you, Holly."

The blonde woman does a sort of nervous little bow, and then she disappears swiftly. Castle finds himself wondering if it's a deliberate policy of the company to put pretty-ish women in charge of customer service. If so, he's not sure it works so well in Holly's case.

Too timid.

"Detectives-"

"Thank you for seeing us," Beckett says quickly. "I'm Detective Beckett and this is Richard Castle."

"What can I do for you?"

"In the course of an investigation, your company's name has come up in regards to a possible break-in."

"Ah." Linton sits behind her desk and gestures for them to sit in the two chairs facing her. Castle sinks down immediately, gripping the armrests in a fit of frustrated anticipation. He thinks - he hopes - that this will answer their questions, but he also doesn't know what he'll do if it turns out he's actually-

"Mrs. Linton, we have reason to believe that someone broke in last night and opened a safe deposit box or a keyed safe-"

Linton narrows her eyes at Beckett, shoots a look at Castle as if to evaluate him. He tries to be still, to not project the churning in his guts, but Beckett plows ahead.

"This is in regards to a homicide, Mrs. Linton, and I need answers from you. This company is in the middle of whatever has happened and it wouldn't look good to your clients if-"

"No need for thinly-veiled threats, Detective. I understand what you're getting at."

"Surely you have video footage of last night's event," Beckett says evenly, coming at the woman from another angle.

"We take our own security very seriously."

"The NYPD would like to take a look at your tapes. It is believed that the thief was somehow involved in a murder."

Linton steeples her fingers under her chin and stares at Beckett. Castle's heart is pounding at the word _murder _and when he glances over at his wife, she -

Ah shit. He really has to get this under control. Especially since her confession at his apartment, since he kissed her and could barely stop kissing her. This is not the time to be getting reality confused with fantasy. She's not his wife. He didn't propose to her; in fact, she specifically said that he's waiting for her. On her. Waiting.

"Detective, our client would want no one to know of this event, would want nothing reported to the police. We kept this client's property in trust at our location, and we assured him of its security and its anonymity. Nothing about this event will ever see the light of day, as per his initial instructions."

"I'm not a Robbery detective." Beckett eyes the woman pointedly. "I'm Homicide. My only concern is my case. No one else's."

"There's one other thing. A homicide you say?" Linton presses her lips together and then sighs. "We have not been able to contact our client since this event."

Castle's heart sinks. The file. It has to be the file, and Smith - where is Smith?

"A homicide," Kate says evenly.

Linton's palm spreads over her closed laptop, a moment of indecision flickering across her face. And then she's lifting the lid and giving them both a hard look. "What I can do is start the video at the appropriate time code, let you view a portion of it for your own personal knowledge. You may not take it with you; you may not email it to yourself; this stays here, in-house, for us to take care of. This is not evidence."

Beckett's jaw works but she nods quickly. Castle feels his shoulders ease; he didn't realize he'd been holding his breath. They're going to be able to watch the tape, to see exactly what happened last night that's left him without a clue. _And it's not evidence._

Linton sets up the video and then turns it around to face them. Beckett leans in as the screen blacks out, then resumes playback. Castle finds his eyes riveted to the color shot in front of him.

A series of camera angles at first - as if cycling through the security system's many feeds throughout the building. The time stamp at the bottom reads 3:37 in the morning. And then a man appears at the front doors - the video stays on that image, tall guy, Castle's height and build, with a deep hooded sweatshirt pulled up to cover his face.

No other angle is presented as the man swipes a keycard and enters the building.

The security firm must have edited this video together, because the next few cameras follow the man's easy, unhurried progress through the lobby, onto the elevator, out and down the hallway on the top - sixth - floor.

At no time does the camera get a picture of the man's face; the hood keeps even his profile in shadow. He is so very lucky.

The man has a backpack slung over his shoulder, nondescript, all brands or logos removed from what he can see at this vantage point. After a lengthy walk, a couple of turns at various corners, the man stops at another locked room. The keycard gets him inside.

"At this point, we have no cameras inside the vault," Linton says quietly. "So if he got what he was looking for, we have no way of knowing. The client hasn't been reached to confirm or deny any missing property, but the lockbox - the keyed safe - was hanging open, empty, when our security men arrived."

It takes ten minutes, according to the time stamp in the bottom of the screen, before the man comes back out.

Backpack on, maybe a little heavier, but no way of knowing. The man goes back down the hallway and into the elevator. At that moment, the video does a split screen and they see another elevator opening up onto the top floor and two men coming out.

"Wait. What?" Beckett says, lifting her eyes to Linton, then over to Castle for a brief moment.

"It is our belief," Linton said carefully. "That two groups sought to possess whatever that item was. Watch."

The elevator shows the man going down even as the other two are jogging down the hall towards that room. And then the video blurs and goes out.

"Is that all?" Castle exclaims, his heart pounding. "What happened? Why-"

"Someone interrupted our camera feed, shut down our security inside the building. Apparently those two had a keycard for front door, but not for the vault. The first man's keycard was programmed for both. A feat I am still at a loss to understand, despite our extensive security measures."

A really good counterfeiter, apparently, Castle thinks, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he stares at the black screen. Suddenly the video jumps back on.

"What's that?"

"It took our security team only forty-five seconds to reestablish connection and reboot our security. The two here are already taking the stairs even while - see? Here he is."

The lone man is leaving the lobby, hood still pulled up, face downturned, carefully avoiding cameras. The two on the stairs are bursting out the door; the man turns, sees them, and darts for the front door.

But once outside, he's ambushed.

* * *

Kate gasps, her heart clenching as she watches him on the video make a dive for cover and roll behind one of the pillars to the sculpted entrance of the building. Castle. God, Castle. What the hell was he trying to do?

The gun comes out then and she has to swallow down her panic, reminding herself that Castle is sitting right beside her - he's fine - and that he's a wanted man inside the enemy's territory, and she has to keep it together.

He doesn't return fire at first; he's making his way in the shadows of the building, getting farther out of frame of the camera as he moves. Then the two from the lobby burst out the door and make chase as well.

All three disappear off-screen; the men in black-ops looking gear who had ambushed Castle are quickly in pursuit.

Five gunshots, then two returning fire. The two are her weapon - she knows they are. She can feel it. It's Castle shooting back.

The video changes to a camera around the corner, catching Castle and one of the team members locked in a tight grip, Castle's back against a pillar. The man shoves hard and Castle's head smacks into the concrete and bounces; Kate's insides clench at the slump of Castle's body. The guy brings a forearm across Castle's windpipe, but it looks like her partner's got an arm up under the chokehold. Then Castle's knee comes up and the guy stumbles back.

That's when Kate sees the blood slicking Castle's shirt through his open sweatshirt. He's wearing the same dress shirt he wore at the precinct earlier that night, the same bloodied shirt he showed up at the hospital in. He's managed to keep the backpack on him as well.

The other guy drops to his knees, evidently either succumbing to the gunshot or stunned by the groin injury, but Castle is dazed as well, listing to the side as he pushes off the pillar. He takes faltering steps, but the outside team has caught up and bullets ping along the concrete; he lurches and heads off into the dark.

Castle is quickly out of the range of the cameras again, but just as he goes, she thinks she can see him stripping off the sweatshirt and stuffing it into the backpack. Still no shot of the man's face. Castle's face.

The screen goes black.

"Is that the last of it?" she says quietly, her eyes burning, her throat raw. She keeps her gaze solidly on Linton, not even looking at Castle, because she can't, she absolutely cannot give him away.

"That's the last of it. We found a blood trail, but no bodies. However, it looks like there was a gunfight - we found shell casings at the front where that second team attacked the first thief. No slugs from the thief's own weapon, though. He might not have ever fired; it does appear that he was shot himself."

The blood. Oh, they think Castle got shot and not the reverse. Good. That means they'll be looking at hospitals for gunshot wounds. He's still safe.

"Thank you, Mrs. Linton, for showing us this. We'll do as you ask and keep any mention of it out of the case file."

Linton nods and stands up, their cue to leave.

* * *

He doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing. They walk back to the car in complete silence, but he can tell that on Kate's side it's not because she has no words - it's because she has too many.

He's almost reached the passenger door, he's almost safe, when her voice rings suddenly, sharp and almost as deadly as a gunshot.

"_What the hell,_ Castle?"

He closes his eyes, swallows, slowly turns back to her. All the time they spent watching that video - if he had any lingering doubts about her feelings, they're gone now, because he's heard her gasps, has seen her clenched jaw, has felt her fingers brush against his as they tightened over the armrest.

Even now, the anger in her voice is meshed with blind panic, tinged with this absolute despair that she must not be able to tone down.

And yet-

She's not his wife.

"Kate," he says, moving towards her, but her hand slams into his offered arm, claws into his wrist as she walks into him, backs him against the car.

"No. No. No, Castle," she bites back, furious, her eyes too bright. "You - shut up. Just. Shut up. You do not get to _Kate_ me. You did this - you went behind my back, you took calls from a mystery Smith man and never even bothered to tell me about it; you stole my _gun_ and then got into this place on your own, like you're some sort of a secret agent?"

He opens his mouth, can't make a sound, can't think of anything. Such grief on her face; his heart weeps for her.

"You're _not_," she says fiercely, hitting his chest with her open palm. "You're not a secret agent, Castle. For God's sake, you're not even a _cop._ You. Can't. Do this. You can't go in there without back-up. You-" she shakes her head in disbelief, so gorgeous even then, dark curls dancing around her dismayed face.

"You're not Superman," she finishes softly, all the fight seeping out of her, but so insistent, so resolute when she looks up at him. "You're only a man, Castle. You're not trained for this. Did you see? Did you see how close it was? How easily he could have crushed your windpipe, could have-" she sucks in a pained breath, "-could have killed you?"

"But he didn't," he offers, hoping to comfort her somehow, to ease the sorrow he sees in her eyes.

Not the right thing to say.

"_But he could have_," she snaps, all of it flaring back to life in her face, the hurt, the anger, the despair. "He could have. God, Castle. Five shots - _five shots_ - any of those bullets could have gone straight into your heart."

She makes a fist at his chest, right where the blood is pumping, like she wants maybe to reassure herself that it still is. That he's not dead.

He takes a chance - she's so close anyway, and he has to do something - so he closes his palms over her elbows, tugs her into him, gentle. It's as if she's been waiting for it; she comes immediately, slumps against him, her arms around his waist and her mouth open at his neck.

"You can't do this to me, Castle," she warns, pleads, so much frightened child in her voice that it breaks him in two. "You can't do this to me."

"I'm sorry," he whispers into her hair, holding her close, rocking them both slowly. "I'm so sorry, Kate, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

The words won't stop leaking out of him, like the refrain of a song he's forgotten the verses to; it takes her lips to finally make him go silent, drain the torrent of apology cascading from his mouth.

It's a careful kiss, her lips moving against his so delicately, as if she's afraid to break something, break them - he echoes her softness, kisses her religiously, a slow worship of her mouth.

Her breath trembles against his chin when she lets go.

"Don't be sorry," she murmurs. "Just. Promise me. Promise me you'll never do it again."

He would, except - if it comes down to it, if one day he finds himself forced to choose again between his safety and her life, he knows what choice he will make.

"I was trying to protect you," he replies, conscious that it's not what she's asked, that it's a weak, poor excuse for an answer.

Her eyelashes lift, her dark eyes regarding him sadly, and he knows she knows.

"From what, Castle?" she asks, and oh, she's so close to tears. It's all there in her voice, thin and breaking already.

And stunningly, amazingly, he has an answer for that.

"Smith is dead," he says.

* * *

Kate steps back, looks at him in shock. What-

But oh, oh. There's knowledge, _knowledge _in his eyes. Exhilaration at the corner of his mouth.

She takes a deep breath, gathers herself, throws a look around. No one she can see, but still, still, she feels too exposed. Vulnerable.

"Get in the car," she says quietly, nodding towards the door. She does the same, settles at the wheel as he buckles his seatbelt, her lips pressed together to rein herself in.

She can't make this about her.

Finally she looks over at him, finds him waiting on her, this curious joy - maybe not joy, but definitely satisfaction - sparkling in his eyes.

Of course. He wants to share.

"Smith is dead," she repeats carefully, inviting him to speak.

"Yes," he replies eagerly, more confident than she's seen him in - oh, was it only this morning that she walked into the hospital with her heart in a fist? "Yes. I got - he called-" his eyebrows knit as he pauses to think. "No, it was his phone on my caller ID but no one was there; it was silent, like a warning. I assumed the deal was off."

"What deal?" she says, can't help the sharp edge to her voice. She already knows she won't like this.

Blue eyes study her, and then he sighs. "A deal - a deal to protect you, Kate. I think - it was in September? This man, Smith, called me. He had gotten...gotten a file. The file on my storyboard?"

He looks at her interrogatively, but it's nothing she can confirm or help him with, because holy hell, he's never said _a word_ about a deal, a deal wasn't on the storyboard.

Breathe, Kate.

"A file with information," Castle hurries as if he realizes he shouldn't give her too much time to think. "On your mother's case."

"I know that much. From _whom?_ Where did that file come from?"

His eyes smile at her, and for a brief second she forgets about everything else. "Whom. Nice grammar," he says with an appreciative grin.

"_Castle._"

"Right. Uh. Montgomery. Montgomery?"

He looks at her again, like he wants to make sure that name makes sense to her. Oh, it makes sense. It makes sense alright.

There's not enough air in the car.

"The Captain. That's - that's who you meant on the storyboard in your office. Montgomery - He was the one who sent that man a file about my mom's case?"

It seems to help him, when she jumps in, rephrases what he knows. His face lights up and he nods. "Yes. But the man - Smith - he didn't get the file in time, only after - after you got shot."

All the light vanishes from his eyes and he stares at her in horror.

Oh. Oh, he remembers.

"Castle," she says quickly, _distract him, distract him_. "What did Smith do with that file?"

"Struck a deal," he answers mechanically. It sounds like he's reciting a poem he would have learned by heart. "He struck a deal with the - the Dragon?" She nods. "The Dragon, whoever's behind all this. None of that incriminating information would see the light of day, if you weren't hurt."

Kate closes her eyes briefly, feels the weight of it crushing her, too much, too much knowledge. She's not equipped to deal-

She exhales slowly. Castle was not equipped to steal whatever he stole from Hubbard Security, but he did it anyway. She turns on the engine, feeling like driving will provide the occupation she needs to focus on this properly.

"If I wasn't hurt," she echoes pensively.

"And you had to stop investigating the case, too," he adds suddenly, like he just remembered. Like it doesn't matter.

She's going in reverse to get the car out of the space, but she stops dead in her tracks, her head swiveling to him. "What?"

He looks distinctively uncomfortable and, _yeah, Castle, you should._

"I," he says nervously, "I was supposed to keep you from - from looking into it."

"_You were helping them_?"

God help her-

"No!" he exclaims indignantly. "No. No. I - I just - I wanted to keep you safe, Kate."

His eyes are blue and pleading, so sincere, but it's not enough. It's not.

"So you worked with them?" she can't help saying incredulously, her heart ripped into tinier pieces with every word.

He stares back at her, powerless. "I love you, Kate."

Oh god. Oh god. She buries her face into her hands with a moan, tries to ruthlessly suppress it all, the burning, pounding betrayal, the terrifying loneliness. Wait - wait - does he-

"How much do you remember?" she asks, has to know, even when she can't bear to look at him.

"I remember the case," he says slowly, regretful almost. "And you. Fighting with you. Watching you bleed out into the grass-"

His voice hitches and somehow it helps, somehow it puts it back all into focus, thinking of how he must hurt too, how he must have hurt. Watching her die in the cemetery and then not hearing from her in three months.

Can she blame him for wanting to make sure it would never happen again?

She pushes her hair back, and with a sigh, with a great effort, she lets go of the anger.

For now.

"Okay. Okay, Castle. Let's just... We're not done talking about this," she warns him with a look. "But we need to focus on other things right now."

Someone honks on her right, makes her jump; she remembers where they are, realizes they're blocking the way. She moves her car towards the exit, biting on the inside of her cheek.

He's silent at her side; waiting for her.

She can do this.

"So. What else do you remember, Castle?"

* * *

"How do you know he's dead?" she says, and he wonders if she knows how clipped she sounds, how carefully held together.

"Linton did say - they haven't been able to get in touch with their client. We know Smith is the client - or, well, sorry, we assume he's the client. That it's his file I went after."

"Conjecture. How did _you_ know, Castle? How did you know this last night?"

"Phone call." It's a dark spot on the white blank of his mind. A moment in the darkness of his study, picking up the phone from Smith and hearing only deadly, living silence. "From the phone he usually called me on. No one spoke. Just breathing. Like - like someone was on the other end, waiting."

"No one spoke to you? No report of a body?"

"I knew. I knew when I got that phone call. The silence. Whoever was on the other end, it's like they were calmly going back through Smith's call log, finding out every single person who might have known about him."

"Still, it's just a gut instinct."

"Kate. I robbed a security company to get at - that file. _The_ file. So I knew."

She lets out a long breath and her fingers flutter at her chest again, rubbing, and it hits him. What she's doing. He's seen her do it all day long and only now-

He reaches over and squeezes her fingers; her attention splits from the road to look at him. He doesn't expect the flare of anger in her face, or the brittleness either. Like he's-

"I'm not a part of this, Kate," he says fiercely. "I'm not."

She averts her eyes but he can already see the tears that fill and tumble down her cheeks; she shakes him off to swipe at them with the back of her hand, not looking at him.

He leans back in the seat, trying to swallow down the sick feeling in his guts, climbing his throat. He'd never - but he can't even say that, because he doesn't know. He might have been a part of it, the whole - conspiracy? There's a conspiracy of people behind her mother's death and he played along. He kept her quiet.

And he thinks it's because he was keeping her safe - the deal - but he doesn't know for sure. Doesn't even have all the details that his counterpart had. All he has is the certainty in his chest that he'd never hurt her, could never let her be hurt.

The grass. The blood on his hand as he pressed it into her chest, cradling her neck and watching her leave him, watching her disappear, blink by slow blink until nothing was left in her eyes.

"I can't lose you, Kate. I can't. You died. And I never - I can't-"

He sucks in a breath and presses his palms to the tops of his thighs, turns his head to the window to keep from falling apart-

just in time to see the black SUV bearing down on them.


	9. Chapter 9

**John Doe**

* * *

Oh God, oh God.

Beckett jerks the car into reverse and cranes her neck to see behind them, gunning the engine. The Crown Vic lurches away from the SUV where it impacted on Castle's side, screams as metal tears from metal.

"Castle," she calls again. "Castle. Come on, Castle." He doesn't stir.

And then a second SUV barrels through the intersection and smashes into them head on, throwing her body violently. Blood leaks down the side of her face, but she keeps her foot on the gas and maneuvers the broken car in reverse around a fire hydrant, tries to steer them off the sidewalk.

Gunfire. One after another, bullets hitting the smashed hood.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Castle!" She takes a precious second to reach for him, shake him awake as single shots splinter their windshield.

All on her side.

None on his.

The car lurches into the side of the corner office building and Castle groans. Another volley of shots comes at them and she realizes that they're not aiming to kill.

Maim, sure. But not kill.

They need the two of them alive.

"Castle. Wake up. Right now. Castle-"

"Beckett," he grunts and stirs in the seat.

"Shit, Castle. Castle, oh God-"

Bullets spray the side of the car even as she tries to wrench the steering wheel around and get them the hell out of there.

"Down on the floor, Castle, get down!"

She can't get the damn car to move, damn it, fuck -

"_Beckett__!_"

The terror in his voice has her turning to look: two guys in black commando gear, weapons in hand, racing towards them across the street, heading for the Crown Vic. One guy gets a grip on the passenger door and Castle pounds the lock into place; the other one raises his weapon, aiming-

"God, no. Castle, get down, get down." She reaches out to shove at him even as she slams the car back into the building, shaking off the two commandos with the lurching movement. She hears the car groan as she puts it back into first; the whole thing shakes like a wounded beast.

Gunfire erupts from the two guys on the ground, aimed at the back passenger side. They're not aiming to kill, no, they want Castle alive. If wounded.

They want _Castle._

Beckett grinds it into reverse to knock the guy off the back door again, even as he's hanging on; the car isn't going anywhere, but the back door is at least wretchedly mangled by the first impact and no one's getting in that way. At least there's that - if nothing else - they can't get him-

"Kate." Castle sits back up, but she slams her arm into his chest and shoves him back down.

"Backup." She grabs the mic from her radio and thrusts it at him. "Call. Call Espo. Right now - call for backup."

"I don't know - I don't know how, _Kate_, Kate-"

She can't _think_; she doesn't have time to think. She wrenches the car back into first and it lurches forward; she slams it into reverse to angle away from the building, back onto the street, and then she sees why there's no traffic.

They've blocked the street with another black SUV. Blue lights. Like it's a cop car.

"Shit."

Beckett yanks the gear shift back into first, but a blur of black at the corner of her eye has her turning to look-

"_Kate!"_

She feels the hands jerking at her the moment after she realizes they've gotten her door open. She hooks an arm through the steering wheel, feels Castle already reaching for her, his grip painful on her bicep, arms wrenching from her sockets.

She curses as the guy yanks again, her seatbelt cutting into her abdomen, her thighs. She stomps on the gas and the Crown Vic lurches, comes through for her, shaking the guys off her as the car rockets ahead a couple of feet before stalling out.

Shit. She stalled the car. Beckett wrenches her door shut again; Castle is reaching past her and slamming down the lock even as she turns the key in the ignition, tries to baby the clutch.

Automatics. Every cop car needs to be an automatic. From now on, damn it.

"Kate, here they come. Go now. Go now."

Where? Where the hell can they go? She prays, coaxes the engine to turn over, and then eases it down the street in first, heading back towards the scene of the first crash, veering around the empty SUV.

A flare of the scope in the sun is her only warning. She swerves the car with a hard wrench of the steering wheel and feels the tires squeal. This time it's automatic gunfire - bullets spray the driver's side of the car even as she searches wildly for a place to run.

Side streets.

She feels a burning heat in her head and blinks hard to stay focused.

"Get down, Castle," she growls again, shoving on him as she tastes blood in her mouth. Just a head wound. She's fine. It's fine. She can do this.

Side streets. Where?

Beckett yanks the wheel around and pops in and out of second, up to third, grinds the gears too soon into fourth even as her foot snaps from the clutch to the gas. Another round of automatic weapons fire and the Crown Vic swerves, a tire punctured, but they are through the narrow channel made by the corner pharmacy and the head-on SUV, and she's jerking the wheel to the left across traffic, rocketing down the one way street, going the wrong way, and back out onto the parallel avenue.

Clear. They are clear. She fumbles down for the radio, hand shaking, slick with sweat and-

"Kate."

She risks him a look and he's hunkered down with round, wide eyes, elbows on his knees, breathing hard. "Castle." Alive. He's alive. They are alive.

"You're bleeding."

* * *

There's a woman standing with the boys when they double park in front of his building. Kate insisted they head straight to his loft where it was safer, where she could guarantee them some measure of security, and he didn't argue.

He's still having flashbacks. His hands shake; he looks down and sees blood. Her blood, all over his hands. It can't be real.

Ryan's mouth drops open as the car pulls up. Castle has to kick at his door to get out; his knees refuse to hold him and he has to clutch the door frame for a moment.

"Beckett's hurt," he gets out, waving the woman off as she reaches first for him. "Who are you?"

"Damn. They said you didn't remember, but I didn't really believe it."

"Castle," Kate's voice comes to him from a muzzy distance. He turns and she's still standing, even as blood soaks the collar of her shirt. The sight makes him sway. "That's Lanie. Dr. Parish. Our friend. She needs to look at your head. You hit it-"

"You first. You're bleeding." He snatches at the woman's hands - Dr Parish - and nods towards Kate. "She got shot."

Parish spins around. "Kate."

"Just a flesh wound. Grazed me. I'm fine, Lanie."

"No. Everyone inside," Lanie says, and then turns to push him inside his own building. The door man gives him a stunned look, but Castle can't even remember a name to help smooth the way.

At the elevators, all of them in a huddle and waiting inanely, Esposito finally speaks up.

"What the hell happened?"

"They were going for Castle," Beckett says grimly. "They tried to incapacitate the car, and then they went for his door. Shot us up."

"And then they went for you," he says back, shooting her a glare.

So much. It's back - the fights, the words, the push and pull, her obsession. Everything that matters anyway. Some is still gone, but that car smashing into his side knocked some stuff back into place.

"You must have stolen that file, and they know it was you, Castle. They want it back."

He nods. That's still gone. Whatever happened last night, he only knows what the video showed them.

"Catch us up to speed," Ryan says. "What did you find at Hubbard Security?"

Beckett sighs and leans against the back of the elevator, both Lanie and Esposito in between him and Kate. That's okay, actually, because he thinks if she were at his side, he'd wrap his arms around her and never let go.

Never.

Beckett proceeds to fill them in.

* * *

It takes some serious convincing to talk Ryan and Esposito into going back to the precinct; Beckett needs them to take the car to Forensics, but they hang around, looking disturbed and helpless. Esposito calls in a couple of uniforms to park out on the street and keep watch, but even then, the boys don't want to leave. In the end it's Lanie who kicks them out, forbids them to come back unless they've learned something useful.

Kate is so grateful she could weep.

Ok, so maybe she's a little shaken up.

Lanie turns back to her, fists on her hips and that _don't mess with me_ look on her face. "Now, you, Kate Beckett, are going to sit down long enough that I can do a better job of patching that up."

She points a deliberate finger to the side of Kate's face, and Beckett mechanically brushes her hand to the makeshift bandage, winces. The lightest touch makes her dizzy.

"But Castle-" she opposes weakly, although she can feel him hovering around. She cannot forget the awful cracking sound of his head against the glass when the other car crashed into theirs.

"Castle is fine," Lanie tells her, voice gentle but definitive. "He's conscious, he can track my finger, he didn't throw up once, and he's behaving normally, as far as I can tell. Whatever's normal for him, anyway. The only thing we can do now is wait for a sign that something is wrong. You, on the other hand, I can help. So sit."

Kate sighs and lets herself be shepherded back to the couch; her knees give out when she bends them, make her crash rather than settle into the leather seat. She closes her eyes, tries to find a breathing pattern, in and out, focus on something other than the nausea.

"I saw that," Lanie says. "Girl, really. You need to start taking better care of yourself."

"Didn't exactly ask those guys to come shooting at me," Beckett replies tiredly, then grits her teeth when Lanie's fingers start working at the gauze. Somewhere to her right, she hears Castle's soft intake of air.

She struggles to get an eyelid open, risks a glance at him. He's standing close, only the coffee table between them, his face too pale, too serious as his eyes intently drink in every one of Lanie's movements.

He's still, uncharacteristically still, except for his hands. He keeps rubbing his hands together, mechanically, his thumb stroking the inside of his palm as if to wipe off-

"Castle," she calls, startling both of them when her voice comes out so sharp. Even Lanie arches an eyebrow at her. "Something wrong with your hands?"

He seems surprised, looks down as if he's just realized what he's been doing. "N-no," he says, and he makes fists of them, puts them both behind his back. A little boy's response that has her heart breaking.

"Come here," she says, holding out her fingers to him.

He gives her a surprised, needing look, and he circles the table, settles on the edge of the couch next to her with infinite care, like he might hurt her by just being near.

She presses her lips together - whatever Lanie is doing, it stings - and trails her fingers over Castle's thigh, laces them with his. He squeezes back, hard, and she wants very badly to be left alone with him.

"Stop moving," Lanie commands. Kate opens her mouth for a rebellious comment, can't help a hiss of pain when something burns at her temple.

"Don't move," Lanie warns again.

Damn it, she is _trying_, she is, but_ fuck -_ it hurts. Beckett has her eyes shut tight, her breath shallow as she struggles to keep herself still. Oh, she's crushing Castle's fingers.

"There you go," her friend says with a final dab of fire against Kate's open wound. The detective lets out a long breath, her muscles quivering with relief. "You'll need to be very careful when you wash your hair, Kate. And graze or not, this is gonna hurt like a bitch."

Eyes still closed, Beckett drags her tongue over her dry lips, gives a tiny nod. "I believe you."

Lanie finishes securing the gauze into place, then moves back, her eyes traveling from Kate to Castle, and back. She sighs. "I'm not exactly thrilled about leaving the two of you here."

"Lanie, you have to go back to work. It's fine. We'll be fine."

The ME doesn't seem entirely convinced.

"You call me if _anything _feels wrong," she tells Kate with a pointed look. "Not just if Castle is confused or feeling dizzy. You too, you hear me?"

"Yes, Lanie." Of course she won't, but her friend doesn't need to know that. From the look on Lanie's face, she knows anyway.

"Kate Beckett-"

"Look, I will - I will call. If we need you. But I'd rather..." Kate bites on her bottom lip. "I'd rather not have you involved in this."

Lanie arches her eyebrow in a silent, but very expressive version of _Too late for that._

"I know," Kate mutters, gritting her teeth. "Not more involved than you already are, anyway."

"Kate, we're your friends. We _want_ to help."

_What if you can't?_ Beckett shuts her mouth before the words make it out, and Castle surprisingly takes over. "Thanks," he tells Lanie with a warm look, a tired smile. "It means a lot."

The ME shoots him a surprised look, before a pleased smile blossoms on her lips. "Well. At least someone is grateful. See?"

Kate rolls her eyes - it hurts - and manages a grimace that can maybe pass as a smile. Castle's fingers are still warm and soft against hers; it helps more than she can say.

"Get out of here, Lanie," she commands. "And _thank you._"

Her friend smirks, but heeds her words, grabbing her jacket and her bag of supplies before she makes her way out. She's left clean gauze, disinfectant, and some stuff for the pain; Kate hates to admit that she might need it.

The door slams, and Castle shivers against her, a jerk of his whole body.

She bites her lip, resists the urge to close her eyes.

"Come here," she says softly, and it takes entirely too long for him to register that he's the one she's talking to, that she's shifted towards him, opened her arms.

"I'll hurt you," he murmurs back, although want flares at the back of his eyes.

Kate slowly breathes past the sudden tears, shakes her head. "Just - be gentle."

He is, sliding his arms around her waist so very carefully, attentive to every sound she makes as he draws her into his embrace. The air rushes out of her when her head finally rests on his shoulder, the solid warmth of him surrounding her, shielding her - _so good._

"I'm here, Castle," she says quietly, letting the words sink in. "I'm alive. I'm safe."

She feels the long, drawn-out breath that he lets out into her hair, and her heart pounds against her ribs, aches for them.

What are they going to do?


	10. Chapter 10

**John Doe**

* * *

He's the one who remembers that Powell was supposed to come by and crack the safe; she follows him back to his study even though he doesn't want her to get off the couch. As Powell promised, the safe door is open.

Kate seems reluctant to touch it, so he reaches in and pulls items out, one by one. Some things are familiar, most are not.

"This looks like account holdings information, Castle," she murmurs to him, rifling through the thick folder he'd handed her.

"Yeah. And stocks. Contracts. Some - uh - diamonds," he laughs, shaking the jeweler's bag at her. She lifts her eyes to him with a reserved smile.

"Anything else?"

"No. If I did steal that file, at least I wasn't stupid enough to bring it back here."

"You remember any of this stuff?" she says quietly, handing it all back to him as he reloads the safe.

"A few things look like - well, it's like a blip of ownership? Like yeah, that's mine. I don't know the first thing about those accounts, but the feel of the folder in my hands is right."

She sighs and seems to stumble back against the desk.

"Kate. You should-"

"No," she says, gritting her teeth. "Stop. Tell me what you remember."

He tries to find words to explain, but it's hard to untangle in his head. The thing is, he can't tell what he's missing because he feels suddenly filled up with images, a jumble of color and sound that won't quit.

But this? The way she pushes against his every instinct, his need to help? Feels all too familiar.

"We fight a lot," he says suddenly.

She shakes her head. "No." And then a wince, she lifts her hand to her temple and closes her eyes. "Well. A little. I'm a stubborn person-"

"You're passionate," he says intently.

She opens her eyes at that and he reaches out to gently touch the side of her head. "Kate." He knows his voice is raw. He can't help it. "You were shot last summer. And then this summer - we've been slow, I've waited for you - but you were shot. And now this-"

She sighs and leans into the touch of his hand; he wants to weep. Oh God, he's going to cry and that is so not manly.

"I'm okay."

"I got you into this. All of this. I reopened your mom's case even though you told me not to." And even as he says it, he thinks it can't possibly be true. Why in the world would he have shoved her right back to the edge of that dark hole? "I am such an asshole. Oh God. I've been the cause of all of this. How-"

Suddenly his self-denigration is shut off by the hot press of her mouth against his, her tongue stealing his words. He breathes thinly through his nose, feeling grief at the back of things, and brings his hands up to cradle her.

His wife. God, his wife. She's his wife and he needs her. So badly.

"Kate," he groans, hearing the sorrow that laces through him, poignant and deadly. "Kate, God, our kids-"

She jerks back, her hands clenching in his shirt, eyes wide and stunned and swimming with pain and confusion.

"Castle. What - what are you - your head. You - does your head hurt?" She lifts her fingers to the knot that's swelling up just above his ear. "Should I call Lanie-"

"No. Sorry. I didn't mean to say that." He has to bite his lip to keep it back. How he wants his family back. His kids. His wife. He needs them because everything else is falling apart and how in the world could he have put her in so much danger? She was shot.

Today. Not just last summer. Today. In the _head._

"Castle?"

"It's all a mess. I can't figure out what's real. I think - there's stuff that's maybe true but it feels so wrong. Why would I have put you in danger like this, Kate? Going to Hubbard and stealing that file - it's stupid. It doesn't make any sense."

She strokes the side of his face, drops her hand as she stares at him. "Castle. If there's anything I've learned from you? We don't jump to conclusions; we have to find the story. There's always a story. It may look like you put us both in danger last night, but there's a story there and we need to find. It will explain everything."

"The story?" he says, frowning at her. "What does that even mean?"

She sighs, slips away from him to head back for the living room. He follows because what else is there to do? "The story is important," she says, even as she leans back against the couch with her eyes closed.

He stops in front of her. So the story, that's more shared history he doesn't have, isn't it? He hates this. He wants to go to bed and wake up with his wife and his kids and the _way things are supposed to be._

"The story. You're a writer, Castle. Everything has a story."

"That sounds ridiculous. Sometimes a stupid idiot is a stupid idiot. There's no story behind that."

She lifts her head and he can see that there's a half-smile circling her lips, like she's sad but she's amused by him nevertheless.

"That's my line," she says softly.

"What?"

"The first case we worked together. You said there was always a story; I just needed to look harder for it. And I said no, sometimes a psychopath is just a psychopath."

"That makes more sense."

Her face falls; her teeth tug her bottom lip. "No, it doesn't. You were right. There's a story here - about last night. Castle, I _know_ you. There's no way you'd have done that if you thought it would hurt me. There's a story and we need to find it."

"I don't know how. These guys just appeared out of nowhere; they either want to kill me or they want to kidnap me-"

"For the file. That's my guess. They want that file."

"They killed Smith," he gasps, struck by it again. Only this time - this time - this time _he knows._

"Castle?"

"The phone call. The silence on that phone call. He's got to be dead and - we had a deal. He blackmailed the Dragon to keep you safe. You and Montgomery's family. We had a deal, Kate, and that phone call-"

"Castle."

He stands up, can't stay still with all of this roiling in him. "What the hell did I do with that backpack, Kate? I must have gotten the file. And they came for it after they killed Smith. Eliminated the middle man. Shit. Kate, we have to get that file-"

He's making a jerky movement forward, towards the door, when she moves to block his way. "Where do you think you're going?"

He stares down at her. "I - I don't know. Maybe - maybe my feet will just-"

"No. Damn it, Castle. We are staying here tonight; we are not leaving. It is dangerous for you out there."

"It's dangerous for _you._ Don't you get it? I made a deal to keep you safe. You weren't shot on accident; they wanted you dead last summer. I made a deal, but Smith is dead and no one is safe. That file is the only thing that can save your life-"

She sighs and steps into him, her arms coming around his waist, her cheek to his shoulder, and it throws him off so badly that he can only clutch at her and stare at the top of her head.

"Kate?"

"And there's the story, Castle. You asked how you could've done something so reckless last night, so that it puts me in danger today? That's how. Right there. That's your story."

What?

"You made a deal to keep me alive, Castle. And now the deal is off."

Oh God.

He clutches at her tighter, crowds her body against his with a press of his hand to her lower back, and then he buries his mouth in the upturned tilt of her lips.

She wraps her arm at his neck and her fingers slide through his hair, toy with his ear. Her mouth disappears from his to press suddenly to the side of his nose, under his eye.

"Castle. You are such a good man. And I'm so sorry to have pulled you into this."

* * *

Even with the painkillers, her head throbs.

It's not exactly hurt, more like a disconcerting ebb, her mind slipping in and out of focus without warning, the world swaying gently when she moves too fast; she tries not to let Castle see, not to let him worry.

She'll be fine; she just needs rest. She needs a good night's sleep. Although, well, there is little chance of that happening.

She watches Castle move in his kitchen, getting plates and spreading the pasta evenly between the two, the lovely smell of the tomato and basil sauce reaching out to her; he then turns to get glasses, opens a drawer for knives and forks, and something eases in her chest.

She's not sure he's even aware of it - how much more he remembers compared to this morning. Amidst all the craziness, the men on that video shooting at him, the ambush today that nearly succeeded, Kate finds comfort in this one thought, this one hope.

She's going to get him back; he's going to be the man she loves again.

He was always the man she loves, of course, but this morning - this morning he had forgotten about it, forgotten about her, and god.

She'd never have guessed it could hurt so much.

"Here you go," Castle says softly, handing her a plate and a fork before he sits next to her, carefully, like he doesn't want to jostle her.

She hates this, hates feeling like she's the weak one, the reason why they're eating on the couch rather than at the table - because she just can't find it in herself to stand up and take the couple steps that would lead her there.

Well, that, and Castle doesn't want her to move. He was adamant about it.

"Careful," he tells her now. "It's pretty hot."

She looks down at the plate in her hands; the pasta that smelled so delicious the minute before makes her nauseous now. She sighs and his head swivels to her immediately, concern flaring in his eyes.

"Kate, you okay? Does it hurt? You want me to call-"

She presses her fingertips to his mouth, that simple movement making her world tilt, and she shakes her head as softly as she can.

"You have to stop," she tells him gently, can't gather the energy to be mad anyway. "You have to stop worrying over me like this. I know it's hard, Castle, but I can't-"

She can't take it. It's too much. He's too much.

His eyes darken, comprehension and hesitance both. "It's too much," he says, a startling echo to her thoughts. "I - I understand, Kate. It's not. Not my place."

He swallows, and her heart bends. Her fingers move of their own accord, circle his neck, brush the soft hair behind his ears.

"No, Castle, that's not what I'm-" she exhales in frustration, closes her eyes, doesn't know anymore. What does she want? "You have - you have a right to be worried," she says quietly, lifting her eyes to him. "I will never deny you that, I just-"

"You need me to ease up," he finishes, his jaw set, and yet so much sadness in his voice.

Oh, and this is where they are, isn't it? This is where they were.

Him wanting more than she can give. _Our kids, Kate._

She looks at him, stricken, her throat closed up but it doesn't matter because there are no words, no words that could make this right. No magical spell can bring her up to speed with him, can finally have them on the same page.

In the end he sighs, looks away. "I understand, Kate. I do. I - I can promise to try, but it's. It's hard for me. So much of it is just...instinctive."

"I know," she breathes, her heart is full of all the times he said _we _and _our _and _my wife._ She wishes, she wishes-

Her head spins and her hand slides off his neck, curls into a fist. His fingers come up over hers, warm and so strong, and he presses his lips to her knuckles, stays there until the dizziness has eased.

Oh, she doesn't deserve him.

"You need to eat, Kate."

She releases the breath she's been holding, nods slowly. He's right. He's right. She can do this.

She takes a mouthful of pasta, forces herself to chew, focus on that and nothing else.

But her heart is so heavy; it takes all the room.

* * *

He keeps watching her because he can't help it; it's second nature, not something he even does consciously.

The food has brought some color back to her cheeks, and although she still looks exhausted, he no longer feels like she might pass out any second. Good. He wants her to go to bed, wants to hold her until she's sound asleep, but...

Her eyes meet his and he quickly looks away, vaguely ashamed, feeling that she can tell exactly what he was thinking.

He gets to his feet and takes a few steps away from the couch, hoping the physical distance will help, since nothing else seems to work.

"Where you going?" she asks, and even though she's keeping her voice as neutral as possible he can hear the breathlessness, the _need_ in it, and he thinks it is so not fair.

She keeps telling him she's not ready, that they're not there yet, and then she acts like that?

But when he turns back to her, mouth open to say that, he sees the large, white square of gauze at her temple; he hears the gunshots and feels her warm, sticky blood on his hands, and all the fight seeps out of him.

"Ah - just, just thinking. Maybe reading my books would help, would give me a better sense of...what you said, about the story, about every situation, everybody having one. Help me remember mine."

Her eyes clear with relief, and she nods once. "Right. Yes, of course, you're right. I think you keep copies of all your books in your study-" she moves as if to get up, and he wants to stop her, he really does, but the second he spends debating if it would be overstepping is enough for her to get to her feet.

He watches her, a hand half-raised, ready to catch her if she sways; she gives him a narrow-eyed look.

"Stop babying me," she warns.

He steps back, lets her lead the way, his eyes on her feet to make sure she won't trip. He can't stop; he just can't.

She goes straight to his books, obviously knows where they are; it makes him wonder how much time she's spent at his place, to know everything so well. The memories are still jumbled, a little hazy at the edges, and he knows some of it's still missing.

Not Alexis, though.

Alexis is a flame in the darkness, bright and warm and wonderful; he remembers the long hours of laser-tag and building a fort with her sheets, telling her stories until she would fall asleep curled up in his arms.

His daughter. He called her before he made dinner, just to let her know how things were - that he was getting quite a lot of memories back - but he kept it short, couldn't speak to her for too long. It's probably ridiculous, because honestly, if their enemies are as powerful and terrifying as they seem to be, then they know all about his daughter already.

He shivers at the thought.

"Castle?"

Kate is looking back at him, a book in her hand, uncertainty in her eyes.

"Yeah." He steps forward, pushing Alexis out of his mind, and he reaches for the novel she's holding.

"Heat Wave," he reads, smirks with condescension. "Sultry title."

Kate snatches the book back, holds it close to her chest. "Stop it," she says, so defensive, so fierce that it fills up his throat.

"They're only books," he objects, surprise strangling his voice, but a strange, dark pleasure spreading in his chest when he thinks that these are his books, _his books_, that make her react like this. So strong and protective.

"They're not," she protests, seems to realize how forceful she sounds, because she quiets her voice. "They're...more than that, Castle. I wish. . . But you don't remember your books? At all?"

He's confused by the grief in her voice. Over books? "Kate. I remember the important stuff. My daughter. You."

Her forehead ripples in concern. "But the books are important. They're you. It's what you are, Castle. A writer."

He grows still, tries not to move, tries to grasp something of that life she's talking about, the sense of doing something worthwhile, but it's not there. He sighs. "I don't know."

She bites her lip. "Do you remember how to write?"

"I don't know. Do I - just sit down and go?"

Horror slides across her face and she sways; he reaches out immediately and grabs her by the elbows, ducking his head to look at her.

"I'm fine," she murmurs.

"You are not fine."

"I'll be fine."

"Here, give me the book. Which one is this?"

"Mine," she says, then her eyes grow dark and she - is she blushing?

"Yours?"

"Nikki Heat is the character you based off of me."

He stares at her, mouth dropping open, his eyes cataloging every flicker in her expression. "I did what?" He grabs the book from her, keeping close to her just in case she's still unsteady, and then he studies the cover before flipping it open, immediately finding the dedication page.

"Nikki Heat," she murmurs, and one of her fingers touches the spine. "That's how you started at the 12th, Castle. How we became partners. First, you were my shadow."

_To the extraordinary KB_

"Oh, that's you," he murmurs, lifting his eyes to her. "Extraordinary."

She doesn't break his gaze, but her hand drops from the book.

"I'm right," he says finally. "You are extraordinary." And before she can say anything to negate him, to make him doubt all this, he flips the page and starts to read the first chapter, riveted by the idea that this is Kate, this is his wife - or if not his wife, then the woman he's in love with.

And shouldn't every book he writes about Kate be brimming with his love for her?

These books might actually tell him more than he expected.


	11. Chapter 11

**John Doe**

* * *

Esposito calls her while she's still standing in front of Castle's bookshelf, trying not to watch him read his own novel. She answers, but finds her fingers fumbling with her phone. "Beckett."

"Yo. Dropped your unit with Forensics, and then me and Ryan went back to that intersection just down from Hubbard Security."

She lifts her head. "Yeah? What'd you get, Espo?"

"Nothing. Big fat zero, Beckett. There's maybe some paint on a fire hydrant on that corner, and yeah, the curb and that office building you said you plowed into? They could have some vehicular damage, but it's hard to say."

"But the automatic weapons fire, the-"

"I know. Nothing. No shell casings. Nobody on the street lot of warehouses there, empty for lease buildings so no witnesses. All we got is your car."

"There can't have been nothing." The ambush and attempted abduction has left such an indelible impression on her that she's not sure she'll ever forget it. The way those hands felt trying to pull her out of the car, the movie that replays behind her eyes of the SUV slamming into Castle's door, his body wrenching, his head smashing against the glass-

"Beckett."

"Yeah. I'm here."

"Got Manny and Victor on the street to watch over the loft. All right?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Esposito."

She ends the call, her thumb pressing the screen, and then feels it wash over her in a wave everything, the exhaustion, the blood loss, the whole day's trauma. She got a call from the hospital at five this morning saying Castle was in the ER, and then she just hasn't stopped since then.

"Castle," she gets out, then lifts her head to look at him.

His eyes are already on her, wary and worried and tender.

"Can I use your shower?" she asks, reaching out a hand to his desk to keep herself upright.

"Of course. Right through there," he says, his hand out as if to guide her.

Right through-

"In yours?" she murmurs, then frowns. Why not? She's not sure she can navigate stairs at the moment and she doesn't want him going very far. Just in case. She just has to get out of this shirt, wash the blood off her neck, out of her hair.

"Kate," he says softly, as if admonishing her. She nods and waves him off. Fine, fine.

"You read," she says. "I'll be quick."

"Take your time. Want clothes? I can find something."

She glances down at her shirt and sighs. "Yeah. Alexis won't mind?"

"Not a bit."

And she can't even hold back the surge of relief that comes when he speaks of his daughter so naturally, so easily. The books might be gone, but his daughter isn't.

And neither is Kate.

* * *

Castle changes his own clothes while she's in the shower, pulling on soft pajama pants and a tshirt. He finds stuff for Kate upstairs, then heads back down to leave it in the bathroom. Cracking the door open, feeling the wonderful steam billowing around him, he tosses a pair of yoga pants and a tshirt on the counter.

"Kate," he calls out.

"Yeah?" She talks over the shower, her voice rich and strong, and it reassures him a little. She looked ready to fall over earlier.

"Stuff for you on the counter."

"Thanks."

He closes the door and backs away, then turns and spots the book on his bed where he left it. His book. About Kate.

Castle tugs down the comforter and slides between the sheets, grabbing the book. He scoots over to his side, props up his pillows behind his back, and dives into _Heat Wave_.

When the door clicks open, he's already sixty pages in and fascinated, but of course, Kate Beckett will always draw his attention. He glances up at her, wet hair already curling around her face, her frame thin-boned and angled sharply in his daughter's clothes.

The smell of her wafts in from the bathroom, lovely and heavy, and he watches her as she stares at him.

"Castle?"

"This is good!"

She laughs, a hand up to her mouth, and comes forward. As he hoped. She puts a knee on the bed and glances at where he is in the chapter.

"What's happening to Nikki now?"

He gives her a shy smile. "Okay so. This guy Pochenko? In interrogation he just made some filthy comments to you and I-"

"To Nikki," she says, rolling her eyes and taking that next step, sitting back against her heel, one leg still off the bed. Closer.

"To Nikki, right. But this stuff is good. I mean, it's tense. Did this ever happen? Some guy getting all disgusting?"

"It happens," she hedges, frowning at him. "But I can handle it. Nikki can handle it, as she so clearly points out to Rook."

"Yeah," he grins. "Also? He basically asks her what a nice girl like her is doing in a job like this, and she tells him she'll kick him in the balls and show him how nice she can be."

Kate huffs a laugh and draws her other leg up onto the bed, leaning in to glance at the page. She laughs again as she reads it. "Okay. Yeah."

"You ever kick me in the balls?"

"No!" She laughs harder at that and leans against his arm. "No, never. I promise."

"I didn't think so." He grins. "I gotta say, this is fun stuff. I like this."

"You wrote it," she says, and now she's tucking her feet up under the covers.

"I know! Even better."

She leans her head at his shoulder, and her eyes flicker shut. She looks exhausted. "Do you remember any of it?"

"No. But to be honest, it sounds like me. I mean, this feels right. Natural. I read it and it's like how I would want it to be written. If that makes sense."

She rotates her head, looking up at him with a half-amused, faint smile. "It actually does."

"The plot is a total surprise, but the lines feel like stuff I've said before. Maybe with you?"

"Not really," she says. "Nikki is more bad-ass than I am. Kicking Rook's balls and stuff."

"I doubt it," he grunts, lifts his arm to slide it around her shoulders.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Castle," she grumbles.

"Me? What am I doing?" But he tugs her against his chest, settles back a little more.

"Uh-huh," she mutters, and he sees her eyes closing. "I'm too tired to fight you. Or kick you in the balls."

"Good," he hums. "Cause all I'm doing is reading my own book, innocent as a-"

"Hush and read, Castle." She's now tilting all the way into him, so he slides down in the sheets until they're both reclining. She startles when she gets horizontal, her eyes popping open, but he props the book on his chest, his neck tilted forward by the pillows, and keeps his arm around her.

After a moment, she relaxes into him and he has to work to hide the grin. Still her hand reaches up to flick at his ear, then drops heavily to his chest. The warmth of her against him is so right, so very right, that he has to lift his eyes to the ceiling and battle back the wash of relief.

If she would just stay like this. With him.

He might have a chance at getting his life back.

* * *

She's falling asleep on him. She totally is.

Kate battles it as hard as she can, tries to blink the heaviness away; she fists her hand on his shirt to give herself an anchor, something to hold on to. She wants to know; she wants to hear his reactions, be there if something strikes him and triggers more memories.

But oh, she's so tired.

The shower felt amazing, the delicious, pounding heat on her weary limbs, the wonderful steam, the smell of Castle's shampoo in her hair; it's mellowed her, made her into this boneless, sleepy thing.

She gives up and closes her eyes, just for a moment, lulled by the even sound of his heartbeat, the warmth of him against her.

She's not sure how long she's been drowsing, but the next thing to drag her out of it is a sharp intake of breath that she feels all the way to her wrist. Her eyelids flutter, her mind hazy and reaching.

Castle is very still at her side; her hand has been resting on his stomach, and she moves it without thinking, feels the hard line of his abs where it was all soft skin before.

Oh?

She shifts, confused, vaguely concerned about what's got him so tense; he hisses her name, a single syllable of warning, and finally the pieces fall into place. _Heat Wave _is closed, his fingers clenched on it, knuckles white.

When she looks back at him, props herself on one arm so she can see him better, his eyes are dark in the gentle halo of light. His mouth is open; his breathing is loud.

"You got to 105," she murmurs, not a question. Shit, how can she have forgotten?

He gives her a look that she can't read. "Should've told me," he rasps. "Kate."

She bites her lip, resists the urge to move because god, their bodies are lined up together, and he must feel everything, _everything_-

"Sorry," she gets out, a little edgy herself now.

He shakes his head, shock and arousal colliding in his eyes. "She licked she licked the salt off his skin, slowly, and then-"

Oh, shit. Shit. Every word he says just makes it worse, makes that scene stand out bright and clear in her mind, the heat pooling low.

Castle suddenly turns a horrified gaze to her. "Did that happen? Kate, is that-"

She's shaking her head no before he can say anymore, all the words forgotten in her throat, and he releases a long sigh, relief or disappointment, she's not sure.

"Okay," he says, swallowing heavily. "Okay."

But his body doesn't relax, doesn't loosen; his abs are still so tight under her palm, all of him contained, held back. The man who loves her.

And this is how much.

How much he wants her, too.

"Castle," she breathes, the weight of it crushing her, strangling her voice.

His eyes find hers, as if reluctant, dragged to her against his will. His lips are still parted and he looks so handsome, so handsome with the shadows painting half his face-

"Kate," he murmurs back, a warning again, almost painful, and then he's leaning in and oh, oh, his mouth is wet and tender and amazing, heat radiating right off his skin.

She keens against his lips, can't help it, her whole being rising towards him and wanting, _wanting_; Castle pushes his tongue inside her, slow and intense, so good.

He rolls onto his side and presses her into him, very carefully, making her moan with it; he whispers her name, again and again, and his hand slides under her t-shirt, following the edges of her ribs until it reaches the underside of her breast.

His thumb strokes and she arches, gasping, liquid fire pouring through her veins, all this ruthless arousal that makes her hips come up, up, up; he's humming something dirty against her skin, and his other hand slides down, curls around her hipbone.

Oh, oh god.

She should she should stop him-

She doesn't.

* * *

He falls asleep with her warm, liquid body over him. He tries to hang on, tries to relish this; he covets this easy, glowing moment, but he can't hang on.

He needs to close his eyes.

* * *

She was so tired before; she would have fallen asleep even with the lights still on, even with Castle's murmured comments as he read, just faded out.

But now that the room's dark, now that he's breathing loud and even next to her, palm at her hip, body curled around hers, she's awake.

She's awake and her heart is full; her heart is aching.

What has she done?

The worst thing is that she doesn't regret it, no. Not one bit. It's too beautiful, this thing between them, this delicate, tentative love; and oh, the look in his eyes when he first moved inside her, his stunned, awe-filled sigh of her name... She will cherish that forever; she won't mar those memories with remorse.

Her hand is resting against his chest, above his heart; she brushes her fingers across his skin, over and over, amazed and silent, so very grateful.

So maybe he doesn't remember everything. So what?

They've spent enough time waiting. She was holding them back when he was so clearly ready, and for what? for no reason that makes sense, not now, when he _needs_ her, when she's got to admit it she needs him too.

Kate shifts closer to brush her lips to his chest, lingers there with her eyes closed, her head swimming.

She loves him. God help her, she loves him, _she loves him _and _he loves her_ and this might be the worst timing in the history of relationships, because he has no memory and they're being hunted and shot at and they both could have died today, but she doesn't even care.

This is _right_, and she loves him, and she's too tired to fight it anymore.

She hums against his skin, almost dizzy with relief, acceptance flooding her veins like a lovely drug.

Whatever happens happens.

But she and Castle are in this together.

* * *

The clamoring, the roar aches. He twists but can't move, can't get free of the tangled mess; somewhere rain is assaulting the earth.

He gasps and lifts up, eyes opening, panic thudding painfully in his chest. His sweat slides down his neck, makes the backs of his knees damp. The sheets are wrapped around his legs.

A hum startles him, an arm snakes low at his waist, fingers skimming his back. He turns and his wife is opening her eyes, regarding him sleepily.

"What is it?"

He shakes his head, feeling out of focus.

Another flash of lightning just outside their window, the rain so heavy it thunders.

"Storm like that," she murmurs. "Kids'll be in here."

_But they don't come._

He waits, watches the door, but they don't come.

"Kate," he murmurs and twists to look at her. She's asleep again, her cheek against the pillow. His heart pounds but the lightning flickers brilliantly in his eyes, blinding him.

He's not in bed. He's standing in darkness. His arms are full.

He swivels his head in confusion it's dark, everything is dark. His kids. He needs to find his kids. They'll be terrified, alone in the dark, without the power oh. No, he's got them. They're here. In his arms.

"Kate?"

A whimpering at his neck and he brushes his lips to the girl's forehead. "It's okay. It's okay. Daddy's got you."

Little arms curl around his neck. The boy lifts his head, trying to look around. The girl hides her face at his armpit; they are heavy. So heavy.

He can't see his a thing in front of his face, can't even make out the windows or the furniture. Where is he? The living room now?

The kids. He needs to get the kids safe. Put them somewhere safe. The bed he needs to get them in bed with Kate.

_Kate._

He feels the warmth against his chest, the heaviness in his arms and glances down at them again. A little hand brushes his jaw and he kisses the fingers. He needs to get to Kate.

The storm flickers outside, rain pounding against the windows, and he turns slowly in the room, trying to get his bearings. The kids are heavy; he can't drop them.

He shuffles forward slowly, easing towards where he thinks their bedroom is, arms tight around the kids. His heart pounds. He just needs to get them safe.

A murderous roar of thunder breaks open around him, rippling across the sky, staccato, like gunfire; the girl trembles and he presses his mouth to the top of her head. "You're okay. We're okay. It'll be okay."

The thunder echoes on, the storm even more intense, and then the brilliant flare of lightning slices him in half.

* * *

He jerks awake on the flash of lightning, arms full, heart pounding, sweat slick and sealing them together.

She stirs against him and he holds his breath, trying to still his heart, trying to bring himself out of the darkness, the storm, back here with her.

With Kate.

He's with _Kate._

He remembers. Some.

That night, the bag in his hands, heavy, sporadic gunfire aimed at him but going wide. He thinks he can get away, he thinks they don't know exactly where he is. The blood drying on his shirt, being hunted, the black night, the sound of his harsh breathing, the confusion between reality and fiction is it fiction? Was it fiction?

The safe place. The lightning bolt.

Carefully, he rolls onto his side, gentles Kate into the bed with his hands cradling her cheeks, a press of his lips to hers before he gets out of bed. He pads barefoot into the study and stares at his books. One of these. One of Kate's.

He plucks the third one from the shelf and thumbs through it, knowing without knowing _how_ that he'll find it.

And he does. It's here. In the book.

The same place he went that night.

This is where he hid that file. This is how he saves her life.


	12. Chapter 12

**John Doe**

* * *

It only takes Castle a moment to slide on his jeans, a long-sleeved shirt. She's asleep in his bed, amazing, beautiful Beckett. He drops to his knees on the floor, skims his fingertips up the length of her spine, stunned by her.

They made love. Kate - Kate made love to him and he - he loves her so much.

He would never survive if she was killed.

It hurts even now, watching her body breathe in his bed and knowing there is just no other choice. He has one option, one last chance to save her life.

And he will take it. Even if it means leaving her here.

* * *

When her phone rings, Kate's awake immediately, reaching for it.

"Beckett," she answers, alertness sliding into place. She is in Castle's bed. She is alone.

"Detective? This is Victor, outside. Uh. I'm not sure what's going on. Did you want one of us to follow Mr. Castle and one of us to stay here?"

"Follow-" She sucks in a breath and searches the room, but it's more than _going to the bathroom_ alone, more than _stepped out to write_ solitary, she has been ditched.

"Detective? He's-"

"Follow him. Both of you. Keep me apprised. Text me when you get an address. I'm coming down."

Kate ends the call and slides out of bed, shivering in the cool night as she reaches for her clothes. Pulling them on, she smells him, all over her, as if every follicle of hair and every pore of her skin has absorbed the impression of him.

It takes a supreme effort of will to not think, not make judgments, to pay attention to her own advice and remember-

there is a story here. There is always a story.

He would never run out on her.

* * *

She gets into the elevator and thumbs the button, the jerk of the car echoing her own nervous, stammering heart. She doesn't like this, she doesn't like this at all.

Her phone lights up with a text; she scans it quickly. They're traveling up 8th Ave. She hustles out of Castle's building and hails a cab, tells the guy to make for 8th, towards Central Park, flashing her badge at him.

Her stomach is in her throat; she has to keep pinching the skin at her thigh to keep her mind from imagining the worst. It's fine. It will be fine. Whatever is going on, it can't be - can't be that bad.

But he was already convinced that she was his wife, and now she's slept with him, and what does that tell his muddled brain, now that she's - she's - oh - let him swirl his tongue across her stomach, whisper love to her breasts, and _Heat Rises _was on his desk when she stepped out and maybe he's confused her with Nikki or himself with Rook-

Her phone rings.

"It's Victor. Detective, we've made a vehicle in pursuit. Black SUV. Government plates."

What? "Where are you guys right now?"

"Nearly to Columbus Circle."

"Whatever happens, that SUV cannot get to Castle. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am. We - oh - wait, taxi's stopped. We're at Columbus Circle; Mr. Castle is getting out, paying the guy; he's headed towards Central Park West. The SUV's falling back."

"Arrest them; detain them. Something. I'll go after Castle, find him myself."

How, she doesn't know, she has no idea. But those guys in the black SUV can't get to him.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Approach with caution, Victor. You know what they did-"

"Got it."

She bangs on the glass. "Columbus Circle. Extra if you can get me there in five."

* * *

She has her hands splayed over her thighs, sweaty palms that she rubs nervously against her jeans; her heart pounds, so loud, flutters in her throat while she peers through the night from the back of the cab.

She's seen a couple people walking the street, one of them a man with a build similar to Castle, but it wasn't him, it wasn't him and _God Castle why-_

Oh, Columbus Circle.

She makes the cab stop alongside 8th Avenue, doesn't want to take any chances. She reaches in her wallet for a twenty, stumbles to a halt when she realizes she has no idea how she and Castle will make it back once she's found him.

Shit, shit, she's not thinking straight and this whole situation _stinks_ because she has no idea where to even _start_ looking for him; he could literally go anywhere from here...

"Miss?"

"Yeah," she says, shaking her head. She hands a couple bills to the driver and bites her lip, asks, "Could you wait here? I've got to find a my partner, but when I do find him we'll need a ride back-"

"Hey, if you're willing to pay, sure. I can wait. How long do you think you're gonna take?"

Kate sucks in a breath, _I don't know, I don't know_, releases it slowly. "Hopefully not too long."

She's not sure it's smart to have the taxi wait so close to Columbus Circle, because really she doesn't want to have Castle anywhere near that SUV, but what other solution is there?

If they're running for their lives and have to make a fast getaway-

Better safe than sorry.

"Thanks," she tells the cabbie, and she hurries off, can't waste any more time.

She can't run, though, because it would make her too conspicuous; she can only take long, quick strides, like someone who can't wait to be home. At least Castle must be doing the same. She hopes.

Oh god. What if-

What if he's completely lost his hold on reality? He was already so sure that she was his wife; what if he thinks she's Nikki now?

She huffs a frustrated breath, tries not to let the doubt, the concern surface, but it's pointless; it won't go away. Stupid, _stupid, Kate._

She wanted it so badly, wanted _him_ so badly, and he wanted her too - she didn't, couldn't stop to think of any possible consequences.

But she knew he'd been reading the books, she _knew_ he was confused, and she should have, she should have-

Shit, if this is her fault, she'll never forgive herself. If Castle-

_Stop it, Kate._

She lifts her eyes to the night sky, the looming, indistinct silhouette of Central Park at her right, and a slow realization dawns on her. Central Park. _Heat Rises._ Belvedere Castle.

The place that saves Nikki's life.

Kate sucks in a breath of both relief and dread, torn between hope that she might know his destination and horror at how hard it will be for her to find him. And also, also...

_Dammit_, Castle. Heading into Central Park in the middle of the night, when there are professionals, hired killers, looking to abduct him? Oh, she sincerely hopes he lost his mind, because nothing else makes sense right now.

And she will _kill him_ if he knowingly put himself in such danger.

She takes Central Park West, praying to God that he didn't choose to go through the park, because if he did she'll never find him. Not in time.

He's got what, five minutes on her? Ten?

She breaks into a run, can't help herself, and after all what does it matter if she gets noticed? As long as she gets to him, nothing matters, nothing.

Her heels slam against the pavement and her whole body protests, burning calves and thighs and ribs, not enough sleep and too much effort, she knows it. But she's got no choice.

She passes a couple guys who look at her like they might be in the middle of illegal activity - probably are - not that she cares tonight. They could be riding horses naked and she still wouldn't give them a second glance.

_Castle, where are you?_

She slows down a little when her eyes catch a man in the distance that looks like him, same height, same build; he's wearing dark clothes and hurrying forward, shoulders hunched. Wild hope spreads through her, pushes her forward, breathless and reaching-

It's not Castle. The face is narrow and fox-like, the hair a dark, greasy blonde that falls over the man's forehead, the collarbone jutting aggressively. Not Castle.

Her heart plummets as the guy twists to escape her grip, mutters some vague threat and then disappears into the park. But she doesn't let herself dwell on it, just keeps moving forward, forward.

He needs her.

Needs her to stop him.

* * *

He passes West 65th Street, hands fisted in his pockets, his head ducked to avoid the streetlights as much as he can; his heart beats eagerly in his chest, this _almost there_ thud because he's getting closer and closer, and nobody's tried to stop him yet.

He doesn't even think he's being followed anymore.

He's made a couple stops, crossing the street and then hiding in a building's entrance to throw off a possible tail, but he hasn't seen anyone - he's starting to wonder how good these guys are, or if he's just being paranoid.

No, not paranoid. He didn't dream the SUV yesterday.

The vivid memory of Kate's blood smeared at her temple makes him grit his teeth, quicken his pace. Anything, anything to keep her alive.

He will get that file, put it somewhere safe, somewhere nobody will ever think of looking for it - and then he'll make the call.

He's so intent, so focused on his goal that he doesn't really notice the sharp sound of footsteps - heels - until they've almost caught up with him. He slows down then, tries to make himself as unnoticeable as he can; if that person can just go straight past him...

No such luck. Fingers close on his elbow, pull, and in that split second when he's spun around, can't resist the momentum, he finds himself wishing desperately that Kate's spare weapon wasn't in locked in evidence, that he had held onto it.

His hands are in tight fists and he's already backing up when he realizes-

Kate.

"Castle," she breathes, her voice thin with relief, scraps of fear underneath it. She glances over her shoulder and then pushes him to turn right into the park at the the next street, West 66th, but he tries to resist because _no no no_, that's getting too close and he's still not sure he's not being followed. He needs to-

She shoots him a terrible look, fierce and dark and _do not even think about it_; he stumbles but cannot resist her, even when that voice inside him is screaming _filefilefile, _so loud and overbearing.

Her fingers dig into his wrist as she walks them away from Central Park West - deeper into the park, closer to the file - and he feels restless, mutinous. He opens his mouth to say something but she looks back right then, not at him but _past _him, at a potential pursuer.

And it hits him. Brutally. The danger they're in, the danger _she_'s in, and the urgency vanishes, leaves nothing but devastating desolation in his heart. Why, _why _is she here?

He had it all under control.

She directs them to an unremarkable maintenance building, not running but close, long legs working fast; it's locked but she pulls him down to the next door set into the cinder block and it opens at her touch.

Her eyes flicker to the 65th Transverse, tight and anxious, and then she pushes the door open and drags him inside, putting her back to the door. Safe.

Or as safe as it gets.

"Kate," he says once her fist has stopped clenching around the doorknob.

She jerks her gaze up to him, eyes intense, studying his face, and she sighs like she's finally remembered how to breathe, hands coming up to push her hair back. She's tied it up into a loose bun, but strands have escaped, a dark halo around her pale face.

He remembers her in his bed, that gorgeous hair splayed over the sheets, and oh, it hurts.

"What on earth-" she says, then closes her eyes and bites her lower lip, shaking her head slowly. "What is _wrong_ with you, Castle?" she starts again, staring at him now, angry and confused and demanding answers. "Why - why would you even-"

He stands there, watching her struggle for words, feels like a stranger in his own body.

"They tried to _kidnap _you yesterday. Hell, they tried to kill me, and you - you go wandering off into the night, _alone_, without protection? Without even a gun? Are you not listening to anything I've said?"

Her voice breaks on the last words, and his heart cracks, his hands itching for her; but before he's even made a move she's speaking again, sounding harsher, colder.

"_We are a team._ We're partners, dammit, and we're supposed to do this shit _together_. I'm supposed to have your back, and you're supposed to have mine. The last time you went off on your own, Castle, tell me, how did that work out for you?"

"Not too bad, actually," he can't help answering defensively, spine straightening at the snarl in her voice. "I'm here with you, aren't I? And I'm the one with the freaking file, even if you seem determined to lead them straight to it, but won't let me go and get it-"

She gapes at him, understanding spreading in her beautiful eyes, and she takes a step back. "Is that - is that where you were going? To get the _file_?"

He says nothing.

"You - you remembered where the damn thing is, and _you didn't wake me_? You went off like James Bond on a stupid mission? How _dumb _are you?" she hisses, furious now, he can tell.

He grits his teeth, refuses to answer.

"Castle. _You were leading them straight to that file._"

"I wasn't," he opposes stubbornly. "I made sure no one was following me, Kate. I purposefully took Central Park West and I _wasn't_ going into the park until you shoved me-"

"No. No, *I* made sure no one was following *you*," she snaps, poking a finger at his chest, and it's just not fair because she's so hot, so hot when she's mad. "_I _asked Esposito to park some uniforms in the street, and when you decided to head out on your own they called _me_. And right now, _they_ are the ones detaining the SUV that was after you, Castle. _They _are the ones risking their lives."

He opens his mouth, can't think of an answer that doesn't sound childish and stupid. He wanted - he just thought-

"I was trying to keep you safe," he says, because it's the truth. "I was trying to - God, Kate, you got shot yesterday! Me? They're not trying to kill me! I'm not the one at risk here. I was just going to get the file so I could negotiate-

"And what did you think would happen _once you got the file? _Once _they_ got the file? Because they would have gotten it, Castle. Trust me. And do you really think they'd have cared much about your life once they had it?"

He takes a deep breath, tries to calm down somewhat, but the whole thing is making him sick, is making his insides churn in rebellion because she just doesn't get it, she refuses to see-

"Kate. I'm a public persona. I may not be the most famous writer out there, but people know me; they know of me. I wouldn't be so easy to kill-"

"You mean, as opposed to me?"

The words seem to have slipped off her lips and she's already shaking her head, bringing her hands up in the universal gesture for truce as he steps forward, palms seeking her elbows.

"Don't," she sighs, and he drops his arms, feeling empty. She looks at him, and there's no anger left anymore, only this stubborn determination, the assurance of knowing better, better than him.

"Castle," she pleads. "You being well-known doesn't mean they can't kill you. It just means they have to be more careful about it. Make absolutely sure it looks like an accident."

The raw pain, the darkness in her voice is what gets him; not the words. He swallows heavily, feels it pound against his ribs, the weight of their love.

She loves him.

Oh god. She loves him and he left her alone in his bed, left her to wake to the call of the police uniforms guarding his door - and she didn't - she had no idea where he'd gone.

If she had done that to him-

Oh, he would have gone absolutely insane.

Castle sucks in a breath, knowledge and air burning in his throat. He was so obsessed with keeping her safe, keeping her alive; so sure that he wasn't at risk.

He was - he was stupid.

He closes his eyes against the harsh reality of it, how easily he could have been shot, how easily these guys could have gotten the file, and then - and then what happens to her?

He feels Kate shifting and coming closer to him; the warmth of her palms gently presses against his chest, and his eyelids flutter open. She's watching him with a delicate melange of sorrow and hope, green eyes so bright.

"Do you see?" she murmurs, and it's so quiet, too quiet, too much like a moan. He has to have her, squeeze her torso to his chest, something, something to ease the burn in his heart.

"I see," he manages to get out, his cheek mashed into her hair, breathing her in because he needs her, needs her so badly, and shit, he screwed up tonight.

Her arms come around his chest, strong and warm, and oh. He was wrong.

He was wrong.

Together. They need to do this together.

"No getting the file tonight, Castle," she says into his shoulder, and he shakes his head firmly in agreement; he sees it all so much clearer now. "We'll go tomorrow," she adds, "in broad daylight. With as many units as we can get."

Yes. Yes. She's right.

And then she's untangling herself from him, lifting that confident, Beckett face to his, so certain. "And when we do have the file? We do it the right way. We don't try to strike a deal with my mom's killers; we don't try to negotiate. _We expose them_, Castle."

Ah. But-

"Think of your guy," she says softly. "Think of Smith. They just had to find him, and kill him, and the deal was off. Just like that. We can't beat them at their own game, Rick. We shouldn't even be _playing _it."

He lets the words sink in, accepting the rightness of them, even though he's downright terrified of what will happen when they _expose the Dragon_-

But maybe Kate's right. Maybe these guys are only winning because everyone is too scared to publicly go against them, to _make a stand_; maybe the risk will pay off.

And she can't spend her whole life being half-heartedly protected by a shady deal. Not only is it absolutely against who she is, but - she's right - what happens when the deal is off?

"Okay," he finds himself agreeing, feeling it down to his bones. Yeah. "Okay, Kate."

She regards him seriously, probably assessing his level of honesty, until a smile finally brushes up the corners of her mouth. "Okay?"

"Yeah," he answers simply, and then it's her fingers at his cheekbones and her mouth over his, slanting, searching, scraping teeth and soothing tongue as she pushes herself against him.

He kisses back, groaning because this is amazing, this is ridiculously, insanely _good_ and something must have been wrong with him if he was willing to _die_ and never feel the smoothness of her body again.

She relents, fingers clutching his shirt, and tells him with fire in her eyes, "Don't _ever _do that to me again, Castle."

He wants to joke about _that _referencing the kiss, but it would be moronic, and counter-productive since all he wants is more of her mouth, always more of her, so he just nods, tries to find some earnestness amidst all the lust swimming in his veins.

"I won't do it again."

He leans in, brushes his lips to her eyebrow, her nose, her chin.

"I won't, Kate."

It's the right thing to say.


	13. Chapter 13

**John Doe**

* * *

It can't be the right time to say it, but he's not sure there's ever a right time for them anymore. He wanted to take her somewhere, but with the FBI's protective detail, that seems impossible. He can't imagine Agent Braun in the Hamptons, black shiny shoes filled with sand.

Speak of the devil - the burly, stone-faced devil - Braun touches his ear bud and lifts his head. "Detective Beckett is on her way up."

Finally. Castle is so sick of being alone with these guys.

He hops up from the couch, putting his laptop on the coffee table. To be honest, he's been writing like crazy for the last few weeks - the last month really - ever since the indictment process got started. When the FBI took over IAB's case, they also took most of his and Kate's access to it.

Jeez, you hand over a three-inch thick file filled with concrete, documented evidence of a man's web of criminal activities spanning a good thirty years or more, and what do you get?

A pat on the head and a protective detail that is always up your ass.

Still, he's proud of himself, even as Kate continuously reminds him that his actions that night were foolish and foolhardy and _dangerous_. Yeah, yeah. But he got that file and he managed to hang onto his sanity long enough to hide it in the weather tower of Belvedere Castle.

Course, he got electrocuted while doing it - some piece of equipment, something. They're not sure, never did quite figure that out. The electrocution is what zapped his memories, or at least that's the running theory.

But he's pretty sure he's got most everything back now. Daughter? Check. Mother? Check - unfortunately, all still there, everything, and he's managed to convince her to go on tour with an off-Broadway show. Better that way - safer.

Kate? Ohhhh, check check check. He knows Kate Beckett. Thoroughly.

Castle grins to himself, wolfish and lazy and so content, striding for his front door, bypassing Agent Braun.

They're supposed to find out today, find out if all this has come to fruition, if the Dragon will have to face justice. Castle hopes that Kate is coming over to keep him company for the wait, all night if that's what it takes.

Rick gets to the front door of his loft at the same time she knocks; he yanks it open and drinks her in, a long moment of relief and love that forces him forward, tugging her into his arms for a fierce embrace.

"Yeah, you too, Castle," she laughs, pushing out of his arms and looking at him strangely.

"Come inside," he answers, grabbing her by the hand. Braun stands solid and silent in the entryway. Castle isn't thrilled with having the guy in his loft, but he and Kate made a deal - she tolerates the FBI's presence in her apartment so long as he does in his.

"You got any food?" she mutters, pushing past him for the kitchen. "I'm starving. Haven't had lunch yet."

"Meatballs in a container on the second shelf." Rick follows her to the fridge, leans back against the counter to watch her. "Hey, I was gonna ask you something."

"Yeah? What?"

He glances back at Braun, sighs. "After you eat?"

Kate turns back to him with the lid pried off, her finger dipping into the sauce. She brings it to her mouth, licks the sauce off and hums at him, eyes flashing. She's so hungry she apparently doesn't realize how sexy-hot-not-fair that is, but when her gaze crashes into his, she laughs.

"Want some?" she murmurs, and leans in to kiss him, sharing the flavor. She pulls back, a grin lifting her lips. "There are three in here. You can have one, maybe."

"Just one?" he laughs back, fingers at her hips. She wriggles away to grab two plates, dishes out the meatballs. He opens the microwave and takes the plates from her; she pushes him aside to drape paper towels over the food.

As it reheats, she shifts closer to him against the counter, their hips and thighs touching, hands braced behind them so their elbows knock into each other.

He looks over at her with a grin, but her goofy mood has vanished, as if evaporated under the heat of this day.

"Should be sometime this afternoon," he says softly.

She nods at that, draws her lower lip into her teeth. "Yeah."

"I'm sure he'll be indicted."

She shrugs. "Never know."

"The case is rock solid. All that evidence, detailed evidence."

She ducks her head, her hair falling forward to hide her face. When she speaks next, her voice is rough. "I just - I won't be able to forgive myself if I've dragged Montgomery's name in the mud for nothing."

"It's not for nothing. And we talked with Evelyn. She made the decision with us."

Kate nods but her her eyes are filling; she closes them as if she can hold it back and he feels her elbow knocking into him.

"We share the responsibility, Kate. The whole family. You, me, Ryan and Esposito. Evelyn and her kids. We share that."

She nods again, and he's said it to her before, but he'll say it as much and as often as she needs to hear it.

The microwave dings and he steps forward, pulls their plates out. She snags the one with two meatballs, lifting an eyebrow at him, and he grabs forks from the drawer as she heads for the dining room table.

When they're settled, her knee brushes his under the table and she reaches out to squeeze his forearm, trailing her fingers down to his wrist before letting go.

They eat in silence as Braun stands sentinel in the entry.

* * *

The office is licked with sunlight, the shelves and couch and desk saturated with gold and yellow. Kate is lying on the floor, her head on a cushion, reading a book to distract herself while Castle sits in the chair and doesn't write.

She drops the book with a sigh and turns her face towards him, sees him watching her. Kate props her head on her hand, elbow hard against the floor, and reaches out with her other arm to wrap her fingers around his ankle.

He gives her a slight smile, then puts the laptop down and leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at her.

"Hey," he says quietly, keeping his voice low and out of Braun's hearing. "It'll be fine."

At the look in his eyes, she releases his ankle and sits up, then rises to her knees to lean forward into him, palms on his thighs. He sits back a little, a hand coming to her neck, brushing down her shoulder, and she knows he's worried, no matter what he says.

They've talked about it. A little bit. What happens if this doesn't go their way.

His hand squeezes at her neck and then his mouth comes in to brush her lips, too tender and too reverent; the kiss is so filled with desolation that she has to pull back, catch her breath.

"You're still having that dream," she says softly.

He nods.

"You have that dream a lot?"

"Not so much anymore."

She searches his face, but he's open. Honest.

"I don't need the dream," he says finally, and he gives her a real smile this time. "There's this. Reality."

She quirks back a smile at him, but the terrible thing is - she's not sure there will always be this. Not if they don't get the indictment.

"What's wrong?" he says, his fingers twining through her hair.

Kate gets to her feet and pushes on him to scoot over; she sits to one side of him, scrunched in the seat, and hangs her legs off the armrest. He needs some kind of reassurance, and this is all she has - her touch, her closeness. For now.

"Kate," he says, his arms loose around her, his forehead coming to rest against hers. "What aren't you telling me?"

"No, it's not a secret. I've just - I can't help but think. If it doesn't come through."

"It will. The grand jury will indict him; we'll go to trial."

"If it doesn't happen, or after that, if he isn't convicted-"

"Kate."

"Listen to me, Castle." She strokes her fingers down his jaw and lifts away from him, makes herself look him in the eyes to say this. "If the grand jury doesn't return an indictment, then I am out of a job."

He sighs heavily. "I figured."

"I'll be fired. I'll no longer have the protection of the badge - if it's any protection at all. The FBI will be gone."

His face pales. "I didn't - didn't think that far ahead."

"Castle, I'll have to leave the city. Leave the state," she says, choking on the idea even as it leaves her mouth. But speaking it, the awful future, sucks some of the fear out of it, some of the horror. "To keep us both safe. If I'm not around, then you're not a threat-"

"No," he rasps, arms tightening around her. "No, Kate."

"It won't be safe for me here. He'll take me out."

She feels him gathering her up into his body, feels the tremble of his arms and the way his breath hitches.

"Castle?" She has to know he understands. He has to understand. "I'll go to Wyoming or Montana, someplace without a lot of people. I'll use my mother's money to buy some land, get a horse or something. A dog. Lots of blue sky and mountains. I'll be okay."

"No."

"It'll be okay," she murmurs, pressing her lips to his temple and closing her eyes, feeling the warm beat of his pulse under his skin. She doesn't want to leave him, doesn't want to lose him, not now.

"They'll indict him, Kate. They have to indict him."

* * *

When she gets too restless to stay still, one of Braun's guys - Swift - follows her down to the building's weight room so she can run on the treadmill. Rick stays upstairs, gets on his laptop first thing.

He's never been much for planning ahead - he likes to just see where the wind takes him, likes to be spontaneous. But Kate's the opposite, and he knows if she's bringing up places like Wyoming or Montana, she has done some research.

It takes him only fifteen minutes to find ranch property for sale in both states; he uses real estate websites to narrow down the best ones, and then he emails his accountant with specific instructions. He set up a couple of subsidiaries of the Castle brand name ages ago, mostly because he thought it sounded so cool to have a shell company, and even cooler to have to use the cloak and dagger stuff at some point in his life.

The shell company will hire a functionary to buy the ranch in Montana first; discreetly, the shell company will then immediately sign papers on the Wyoming property. He'll have access to them both within 48 hours, hopefully.

If it comes down to it, he and Kate will be on the road, headed for one of those places and her wide open blue sky. He'll buy her a barn of horses. He'll do anything if she lets him stay with her.

He checks a couple of his balance sheets, and then he wires a good deal of his money to the previously unused Caymans account. More of the cloak and dagger, back when he thought it was so cool to be sneaky, back when following around Sophia Turner made him think he'd need the spy stuff some day. The Caymans account has seen little action since he opened it, just the yearly maintenance requirements. If the indictment doesn't come through, it will be hard, almost impossible, to trace what happens to the money once it leaves that account.

He is planning ahead. This is their back-up plan - this is _his_ back-up plan.

Because when she asked if he was still having that dream, he told her not really. But the truth is, when he wakes in the middle of the night with another layering of memory, he still thinks, instinctively, that Kate is his, that she should be there in his bed.

Sometimes she is. Sometimes she's not.

He wants her to always be there, and he is working towards that. Anything else is unacceptable.

* * *

Kate comes back soaked in sweat, trailing Swift behind her as she opens Castle's door. Of course, she has to put her key in the lock and go through it all even though Swift radioed up to Braun, and Braun no doubt let Castle know.

She insists on not using the FBI agents as runners for their lines of communication. If the FBI wasn't here, she'd be doing the same thing now - unlocking his door with her shaky hand and pushing her way inside.

Of course, Castle's waiting on her. He hands her a glass of water and she gives him a weary smile, drinks it down even as they stand there. Swift shuts the door, stays posted outside even as Braun keeps his eyes front and center.

Castle leans in, his mouth at the sweaty spot behind her ear. "Wanna shower?"

She cuts her eyes to Braun, then back to Rick, and nods with a little smile at him.

He grins and takes the water from her, gestures towards his bedroom as he returns the glass to the sink. She makes her way slowly, heading through his study first, idly wiping sweat from the back of her neck, toeing off her shoes as she goes.

She hears him trip on one of her sneakers, grins to herself. She reaches down, half bent over to get at her socks, and he comes up behind her suddenly, bumping into her, his hands on her hips.

She feels the hot edge of his body against her and stumbles, peeling her grey sock off. She stands again, nestling back into him, and his hand slides around her waist to slip his fingers under the waistband of her shorts.

His mouth sucks at the tendon of her neck; her knees run to water. He tips her back against his chest and pulls the skin at her collarbone with his teeth. She lets out a breath, long and low, reaches back to clutch at his thigh.

"Shower - shower, Castle," she manages, but her eyes slam shut when he lets his hand travel.

She pants, squeezing his leg, tries to pull away from him. He walks with her, herding her now, pushing them both towards the bathroom.

* * *

When he steps out of the shower a few minutes after her, Kate takes a moment to watch him in the mirror, the comb in her hand stilling briefly.

He yanks a towel from the warmer and drapes it over his head, swiping at his face, rubbing his hair, and she lets her eyes follow the strong lines of him. She finds herself in love with his knees, the round edges of the patellas, the bulge of tendon and muscle in ridges, the thick skin. He has a scar on the right one, wide, like there's a story there.

She's drifting back to him, so that when he drops the towel and moves to dry off, she's suddenly right there in front of him. He gives her a saucy look, leering and content, and she leans in to press herself against him.

He huffs a surprised breath at the top of her head, arms coming up around her. His palms are hot, his body a furnace that flames her, head to toe, like a brand. She lifts on her toes, feels the shudder that goes through him at her movement.

He takes her kiss with a loose grin under her mouth. She smiles back even as she hovers at his lips, touches her tongue to his. Devastation rises up in her, swift as lightning, and she has to hold on to him, clutch his biceps in a death grip.

This has to work. They have to get the indictment.

"I don't want to leave," she moans, pressing her eyes to his jaw to keep it down, keep it from spilling out. "I don't want to leave you-"

"You won't. It won't happen."

"Oh God, it might. I have to - we have to face that. Castle," she groans, crowding closer to him as if he could change the future. She won't take him away from Alexis, his mother, his whole career, but she can't stomach the idea of driving off without him.

"Whatever happens, Kate-"

Her phone rings from the bedroom where she dropped it in their rush to shower. It's the prosecutor's ring tone. She stiffens in his arms, pulls back, her eyes staring through the doorway towards his room.

Fitting that she should be naked when the call comes.

"Get the phone, Kate," he murmurs, wrapping his towel around her, tucking it into her breasts with such _kindness_ on his face that she could cry.

Instead she clutches at the loose towel and heads for her still-ringing phone.

* * *

Castle pulls on his boxer briefs, then a pair of gym shorts. He heads to the dresser and grabs a tshirt, tugs it on over his head as he listens to Kate listening.

No words yet, just her tense concentration on whatever the prosecutor might be saying to her.

If this goes wrong, they will leave tonight. Right now, actually. This very afternoon for Montana or Wyoming and her horses, her blue sky. Oh, and a dog. They won't stop until they've lost cell service and there are more herds of cows than there are gas stations.

If she leaves this city, he's in exile with her.

Her shoulders hunch on a breath; his heart twists painfully. He can't even begin to think about his mother and Alexis. They'll have to come visit from time to time; he thinks they won't need to be truly as underground as witness protection. Just being out of the city should assure that they're no threat.

Right?

Oh God, if Kate is taken from him-

She spins around, the phone falling from her ear; her face is a mask of stunned disbelief. Or horror. It could be horror.

"Wait," he says, holding his hand up to her.

She closes her mouth, the knowledge in her eyes unreadable. She's breathing hard.

"Kate. No matter what he told you. I'm with _you. _I'm always with you. So you listen to me. Either everything is okay, and this is just me asking you to move in with me. Or it didn't go like we planned, and this is me asking to move in with you - in Wyoming or Montana, wherever it takes us, however long it takes, just don't leave without me."

She stumbles back, her hand still clutched around the phone. She closes her eyes for a moment, head bowed, and then she lifts her chin.

He braces himself for the worst. For packing in a hurry and running away with her.

"Castle," she rasps, her voice like sandpaper. She swallows, presses her hand against her mouth, her eyes pleading with him. He doesn't even know why. "Castle. Yes." She comes for him then, wraps her arms around his neck, cheek against his, her breath rapid, heart pounding. "Yes, I'll move in with you."

Move in with-

"The grand jury returned with an indictment," she continues, her words the sexiest thing he's heard in ages. "He's going to trial."

He's going to trial. They're taking the Dragon down.

He chokes on a laugh and wraps his arms so hard around her that he can feel her lose her breath. "We did it. Oh God, Kate-"

"We made it," she murmurs, and her mouth finds his, takes from him, again and again, needy and intense and unending. "I thought I'd never - but you wouldn't let go, wouldn't quit; you kept me going even when it was so dark, and, _Castle_, God, Castle, I love you so much. Through everything, since the beginning, it's always been you."

* * *

**end**

* * *

****thanks to everyone for their amazing comments and constant craving for more ; ) we both appreciate the support, the reviews, the love.


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